OP  CALIF.  LIBRARY,  LOS  AUGELES 


GOOD  OLD  ANNA 

By  MRS.  BELLOC  LOWNDES 

Author  of 

"The  Chink  In  the  Armour,"  "The  Lodger," 
"The  End  of  Her  Honeymoon,"  etc.,  etc. 


\ 


NEW  YORK 
GEORGE  H.  DORAN  COMPANY 


PRINTED  IN  THE  UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA 


GOOD  OLD  ANNA 


GOOD   OLD   ANNA 


CHAPTER  I 

AND  now,"  asked  Miss  Forsyth  thoughtfully,  "and 
now,  my  dear  Mary,  what,  may  I  ask,  are  you 
going  to  do  about  your  good  old  Anna  ?" 

"Do  about  Anna?"  repeated  the  other.  "I  don't 
quite  understand  what  you  mean." 

In  her  heart  Mrs.  Otway  thought  she  understood 
very  well  what  her  old  friend,  Miss  Forsyth,  meant 
by  the  question.  For  it  was  Wednesday,  the  5th  of 
August,  1914.  England  had  just  declared  war  on 
Germany,  and  Anna  was  Mrs.  Otway's  faithful, 
highly  valued  German  servant. 

Miss  Forsyth  was  one  of  those  rare  people  who 
always  require  an  answer  to  a  question,  and  who  also 
(which  is  rarer  still)  seldom  speak  without  having 
first  thought  out  what  they  are  about  to  say.  It  was 
this  quality  of  mind,  far  more  than  the  fact  that  she 
had  been  born,  sixty  years  ago,  in  the  Palace  at 
Witanbury,  which  gave  her  the  position  she  held  in 
the  society  of  the  cathedral  town. 

But  this  time  she  herself  went  on  speaking:  "In 
your  place  I  should  think  very  seriously  of  sending 
Anna  back  to  Germany."  There  was  an  unusual 

7 


8  Good  Old  Anna 

note  of  hesitation  and  of  doubt  in  her  voice.  As  a 
rule  Miss  Forsyth  knew  exactly  what  she  thought 
about  everything,  and  what  she  herself  would  be 
minded  to  do  in  any  particular  case. 

But  the  other  lady,  incensed  at  what  she  considered 
uncalled-for,  even  rather  impertinent  advice,  replied 
sharply,  "I  shouldn't  think  of  doing  anything  so  un- 
kind and  so  unjust !  Why,  because  the  powers  of  evil 
have  conquered — I  mean  by  that  the  dreadful  German 
military  party — should  I  behave  unjustly  to  a  faithful 
old  German  woman  who  has  been  with  me — let  me 
see — why,  who  has  been  with  me  exactly  eighteen 
years?  With  the  exception  of  a  married  niece  with 
whom  she  went  and  stayed  in  Berlin  three  autumns 
ago,  my  poor  old  Anna  hasn't  a  relation  left  in  Ger- 
many. Her  whole  life  is  centred  in  me — or  perhaps 
I  ought  to  say  in  Rose.  She  was  the  only  nurse  Rose 
ever  had." 

"And  yet  she  has  remained  typically  Geman,"  ob- 
served Miss  Forsyth  irrelevantly. 

"Of  course  she  has!"  cried  Mrs.  Otway  quickly. 
"And  that  is  why  we  are  both  so  much  attached  to 
her.  Anna  has  all  the  virtues  of  the  German  woman ; 
she  is  faithful,  kindly,  industrious,  and  thrifty." 

"But,  Mary,  has  it  not  occurred  to  you  that  you 
will  find  it  very  awkward  sometimes?"  Again  with- 
out waiting  for  an  answer,  Miss  Forsyth  went  on: 
"Our  working  people  have  long  felt  it  very  hard  that 
there  should  be  so  many  Germans  in  England,  taking 
away  their  jobs." 

"They  have  only  themselves  to  thank  for  that," 
said  Mrs.  Otway,  with  more  sharpness  than  was  usual 
with  an  exceptionally  kindly  and  amiable  nature. 


Good  Old  Anna 


"Germans  are  much  more  industrious  than  our  people 
are,  and  they  are  content  with  less  wages.  Also  you 
must  forgive  me  if  I  say,  dear  Miss  Forsyth,  that  I 
don't  quite  see  what  the  jealousy  of  the  average  work- 
ing-man, or,  for  the  matter  of  that,  of  the  average 
mechanic,  has  to  do  with  my  good  old  Anna,  especially 
at  such  a  time  as  this." 

"Don't  you  really?"  Miss  Forsyth  looked  curiously 
into  the  other's  flushed  and  still  fair,  delicately  tinted 
face.  She  had  always  thought  Mary  Otway  a  rather 
foolish,  if  also  a  lovable,  generous-hearted  woman. 
But  this  was  one  of  the  few  opinions  Miss  Forsyth 
always  managed  to  keep  to  herself. 

"I  suppose  you  mean,"  said  the  other  reluctantly, 
"that  if  I  had  not  had  Anna  as  a  servant  all  these 
years  I  should  have  been  compelled  to  have  an  English- 
woman?" 

"Yes,  Mary,  that  is  exactly  what  I  do  mean !  But 
of  course  I  should  never  have  spoken  to  you  about  the 
matter  were  it  not  for  to-day's  news.  My  maid,  Pusey, 
you  know,  spoke  to  me  about  it  this  morning,  and  said 
that  if  you  should  be  thinking  of  parting  with  her — 
if  your  good  old  Anna  should  be  thinking,  for  in- 
stance, of  going  back  to  Germany — she  knew  some 
one  who  she  thought  would  suit  you  admirably.  It's 
a  woman  who  was  cook  in  a  very  good  London  place, 
and  whose  health  has  rather  given  way." 

Miss  Forsyth  spoke  with  what  was  for  her  un- 
usual animation. 

As  is  always  the  way  with  your  active,  intelligent 
philanthropist,  she  was  much  given  to  vicarious  deeds 
of  charity.  At  the  same  time  she  never  spared  herself. 
Her  own  comfortable  house  always  contained  one  or 


io  Good  Old  Anna 

more  of  the  odd-come-shorts  whom  she  had  not  man- 
aged to  place  out  in  good  situations. 

Again  a  wave  of  resentment  swept  over  Mrs. 
Otway.  This  was  really  too  much! 

"How  would  such  a  woman  as  you  describe — a  cook 
who  has  been  in  a  good  London  place,  and  who  has 
lost  her  health — work  into  our — mine  and  Rose's — 
ways?  Why,  we  should  both  be  afraid  of  such  a 
woman!  She  would  impose  on  us  at  every  turn.  If 
you  only  knew,  dear  Miss  Forsyth,  how  often,  in  the 
last  twenty  years,  I  have  thanked  God — I  say  it  in 
all  reverence — for  having  sent  me  my  good  old  Anna ! 
Think  what  it  has  been  to  me" — she  spoke  with  a  good 
deal  of  emotion — "to  have  in  my  tiny  household  a 
woman  so  absolutely  trustworthy  that  I  could  always 
go  away  and  leave  my  child  with  her,  happy  in  the 
knowledge  that  Rose  was  as  safe  with  Anna  as  she 
was  with  me " 

Her  voice  broke,  a  lump  came  into  her  throat,  but 
she  hurried  on:  "Don't  think  that  it  has  all  been 
perfect — that  I  have  lain  entirely  on  a  bed  of  roses! 
Anna  has  been  very  tiresome  sometimes;  and,  as  you 
know,  her  daughter,  to  whom  I  was  really  attached, 
and  whom  I  regarded  more  or  less  as  Rose's  foster- 
sister,  made  that  unfortunate  marriage  to  a  worthless 
London  tradesman.  That's  the  black  spot  in  Anna's 
life — I  don't  mind  telling  you  that  it's  been  a  blacker 
spot  in  mine  than  I've  ever  cared  to  admit,  even  to 
myself.  The  man's  always  getting  into  scrapes,  and 
having  to  be  got  out  of  them !  Why,  you  once  helped 
me  about  him,  didn't  you?  and  since  then  James 
Hayley  actually  had  to  go  to  the  police  about  the 
man." 


Good  Old  Anna  IE 

"Mr.  Hayley  will  be  busier  than  ever  now." 

"Yes,  I  suppose  he  will." 

And  then  the  two  ladies,  looking  at  one  another, 
smiled  one  of  those  funny  little  smiles  which  may 
mean  a  great  deal,  or  nothing  at  all. 

James  Hayley,  the  son  of  one  of  Mrs.  Otway's  first 
cousins,  was  in  the  Foreign  Office;  and  if  he  had  an 
inordinate  opinion  of  himself  and  of  his  value  to  his 
country,  he  was  still  a  very  good,  steady  fellow. 
Lately  he  had  fallen  into  the  way  of  coming  down  to 
Witanbury  exceedingly  often ;  but  when  doing  so  he 
did  not  stay  with  the  Otways,  in  their  pretty  house  in 
the  Close,  as  would  have  been  nautral,  and  as  would 
also  naturally  have  made  his  visits  rather  less  frequent ; 
instead,  he  stayed  in  lodgings  close  to  the  gateway 
which  divided  the  Close  from  the  town,  and  thus  was 
able  to  be  at  the  Trellis  House  as  much  or  as  little 
as  he  liked.  It  was  generally  much.  Mrs.  Otway 
wondered  whether  the  war  would  so  far  affect  his 
work  as  to  keep  him  away  from  Witanbury  this 
summer.  She  rather  hoped  it  would. 

"I'm  even  more  sorry  than  usual  for  Jervis  Blake 
to-day!"  and  this  time  there  was  a  note  of  real  kind- 
ness in  Miss  Forsyth's  voice.  "I  shouldn't  be  sur- 
prised if  he  enlisted." 

"Oh,  I  hope  he  won't  do  that!"  Mrs.  Otway  was 
shocked  at  the  suggestion.  Jervis  Blake  was  a  person 
for  whom  she  had  a  good  deal  of  tolerant  affection. 
He  was  quite  an  ordinary  young  man,  and  he  had  had 
the  quite  ordinary  bad  luck  of  failing  to  pass  suc- 
cessive Army  examinations.  The  news  that  he  had 
failed  again  had  just  become  known  to  his  friends, 
and  unluckily  it  was  his  last  chance,  as  he  was  now 


12  Good  Old  Anna 

past  the  age  limit.  The  exceptional  feature  in  his 
very  common  case  was  that  he  happened  to  be  the 
only  son  of  a  distinguished  soldier. 

"7  should  certainly  enlist  if  I  were  he,"  continued 
Miss  Forsyth  thoughtfully.  "He  wouldn't  have  long 
to  wait  for  promotion  from  the  ranks." 

"His  father  would  never  forgive  him!" 

"The  England  of  to-day  is  a  different  England 
from  the  England  of  yesterday,"  observed  Miss 
Forsyth  drily ;  and  as  the  other  stared  at  her,  genuinely 
astonished  by  the  strange  words,  "Don't  you  agree 
that  that  is  so,  Mary?" 

"No,  I  can't  say  that  I  do."  Mrs.  Otway  spoke 
with  greater  decision  than  was  her  wont.  Miss 
Forsyth  was  far  too  fond  of  setting  the  world  to  rights. 

"Ah!  well,  I  think  it  is.  And  I  only  wish  I  was  a 
young  man  instead  of  an  old  woman!  I'm  sorry  for 
every  Englishman  who  is  too  old  to  take  up  arms  in 
this  just  cause.  What  must  be  Major  Guthrie's  feel- 
ings to-day!  How  he  must  regret  having  left  the 
Army  to  please  his  selfish  old  mother!  It's  the  more 
hard  on  him  as  he  always  believed  this  war  would 
come.  He  really  knows  Germany." 

"Major  Guthrie  only  knows  military  Germany," 
said  Mrs.  Otway  slowly. 

"It's  only  what  you  call  military  Germany  which 
counts  to-day,"  observed  Miss  Forsyth  quickly;  and 
then,  seeing  that  her  friend  looked  hurt,  and  even, 
what  she  so  very  seldom  was,  angry  too,  she  held  out 
her  hand  with  the  words:  "And  now  I  must  be 
moving  on,  for  before  going  to  the  cathedral  I  have  to 
see  Mrs.  Haworth  for  a  minute.  By  the  way,  I  hear 
that  the  Dean  intends  to  give  a  little  address  about 


Good  Old  Anna  13 

the  war."  She  added,  in  a  different  and  a  kindlier 
tone :  "You  must  forgive  me,  Mary,  for  saying  what 
I  did  about  your  good  old  Anna !  But  you  know  I'm 
really  fond  of  you,  and  I'm  even  fonder  of  your  sweet 
Rose  than  I  am  of  you.  I  always  feel  that  there  is  a 
great  deal  in  Rose — more  than  in  any  other  girl  I 
know.  And  then — well,  Mary,  she  is  so  very  pretty! 
prettier  than  you  even  were,  though  you  had  a  way 
of  making  every  one  think  you  lovely!" 

Mrs.  Otway  laughed.  She  was  quite  mollified.  "I 
know  how  fond  you  are  of  Rose,"  she  said  grate- 
fully, "and,  of  course,  I  don't  mind  your  having 
spoken  to  me  about  Anna.  But  as  to  parting  with 
her — that  would  mean  the  end  of  the  world  to  us, 
to  your  young  friend  Rose  even  more  than  to  me. 
Why,  it  would  be  worse — far  worse — than  the  war!" 


CHAPTER  II 

AS  Mrs.  Otway  walked  slowly  on,  she  could  not 
help  telling  herself  that  dear  old  Miss  Forsyth 
had  been  more  interfering  and  tiresome  than  she 
usually  was  this  morning. 

She  felt  ruffled  by  the  little  talk  they  two  had  just 
had — so  ruffled  and  upset  that,  instead  of  turning  into 
the  gate  of  the  house  where  she  had  been  bound — 
for  she,  too,  had  meant  to  pay  a  call  in  the  Close  on 
her  way  to  the  cathedral — she  walked  slowly  on  the 
now  deserted  stretch  of  road  running  through  and 
under  the  avenue  of  elm  trees  which  are  so  beautiful 
and  distinctive  a  feature  of  Witanbury  Close. 

Again  a  lump  rose  to  her  throat,  and  this  time  the 
tears  started  into  her  eyes  and  rolled  down  her  cheeks. 
In  sheer  astonishment  at  her  own  emotion,  she  stopped 
short,  and  taking  out  her  handkerchief  dabbed  her 
eyes  hurriedly.  How  strange  that  this  interchange  of 
words  with  one  whose  peculiarities  she  had  known, 
and,  yes,  suffered  under  and  smiled  at  for  so  many 
years,  should  make  her  feel  so — so — so  upset ! 

Mrs.  Otway  was  a  typical  Englishwoman  of  her  age, 
which  was  forty-three,  and  of  her  class,  which  was 
that  from  which  are  drawn  most  of  the  women  from 
whom  the  clergy  of  the  Established  Church  choose 
their  wives.  There  are  thousands  such,  living  in 
serene  girlhood,  wifehood,  or  widowhood,  to  be  found 
in  the  villages  and  country  towns  of  dear  old  England. 
With  but  very  few  exceptions,  they  are  kindly-natured, 

14 


Good  Old  Anna 


unimaginative,  imbued  with  a  shrinking  dislike  of  any 
exaggerated  display  of  emotion;  in  some  ways  amaz- 
ingly broad-minded,  in  others  curiously  limited  in 
their  outlook  on  life.  Such  women,  as  a  rule,  present 
few  points  of  interest  to  students  of  human  nature, 
for  they  are  almost  invariably  true  to  type,  their 
virtues  and  their  defects  being  cast  in  the  same 
moulds. 

But  Mrs.  Otway  was  much  more  original  and  more 
impulsive,  thus  far  less  "groovy,"  than  the  people 
among  whom  her  lot  was  cast.  There  were  even 
censorious  folk  in  Witanbury  who  called  her  eccentric. 
She  was  generous-hearted,  easily  moved  to  enthusi- 
asm, tenacious  of  her  opinions  and  prejudices.  She 
had  remained  young  of  heart,  and  her  fair,  curling 
hair,  her  slight,  active  figure,  and  delicately-tinted 
skin,  gave  her  sometimes  an  almost  girlish  look.  Those 
who  met  her  for  the  first  time  were  always  surprised 
to  find  that  Mrs.  Otway  had  a  grown-up  daughter. 

As  a  girl  she  had  spent  two  very  happy  years  in 
Germany,  at  Weimar,  and  she  had  kept  from  those  far- 
off  days  a  very  warm  and  affectionate  feeling  towards 
the  Fatherland,  as  also  a  rather  exceptionally  good 
knowledge  both  of  the  German  language  and  of  old- 
fashioned  German  literature.  Then  had  come  a 
short  engagement,  followed  by  five  years  of  placid, 
happy  marriage  with  a  minor  canon  of  Witanbury 
Cathedral.  And  then,  at  the  end  of  those  five  years, 
which  had  slipped  by  so  easily  and  so  quickly,  she 
had  found  herself  alone,  with  one  little  daughter, 
and  woefully  restricted  means.  It  had  seemed,  and 
indeed  it  had  been,  a  godsend  to  come  across,  in 
Anna  Bauer,  a  German  widow  who,  for  a  miraculously 


16  Good  Old  Anna 

low  wage,  had  settled  down  into  her  little  household, 
to  become  and  to  remain,  not  only  an  almost  perfect 
servant,  but  as  time  went  on  a  most  valued  and  trusted 
friend. 

The  fact  that  Mrs.  Otway  had  been  left  a  legacy 
by  a  distant  relation,  while  making  her  far  more  com- 
fortable, had  not  caused  her  to  alter  very  materially 
her  way  of  life.  She  had  raised  Anna's  modest  wage, 
and  she  was  no  longer  compelled  to  look  quite  so 
closely  after  every  penny.  Also,  mother  and  daughter 
were  now  able  to  take  delightful  holidays  together. 
They  had  planned  one  such  for  this  very  autumn  to 
Germany — Germany,  the  country  still  so  dear  to  Mrs. 
Otway,  which  she  had  always  longed  to  show  her 
daughter. 

It  was  natural  that  the  news  which  had  burst  upon 
England  to-day  should  have  unsealed  the  fountain  of 
deep  emotion  in  her  nature.  Mrs.  Otway,  like  almost 
every  one  she  knew,  had  not  believed  that  there  would 
or  could  be  a  great  Continental  war,  and  when  that 
had  become,  with  stunning  suddenness,  an  accom- 
plished fact,  she  had  felt  sure  that  her  country  would 
remain  out  of  the  awful  maelstrom. 

Send  their  good  old  Anna  back  to  Germany? 
Why,  the  idea  was  unthinkable!  What  would  she, 
Mary  Otway,  what  would  her  daughter,  Rose,  do 
without  Anna?  Anna  had  become — Mrs.  Otway 
realised  it  to-day  as  she  had  never  realised  it  before — 
the  corner-stone  of  their  modest,  happy  House  of 
Life. 

Miss  Forsyth  had,  however,  said  one  thing  which 
was  unfortunately  true.  It  is  strange  how  often 


Good  Old  Anna  17 

these  positive,  rather  managing  people  hit  the  right 
nail  on  the  head !  The  fact  that  England  and  Ger- 
many were  now  at  war  would  sometimes  make  things 
a  little  awkward  with  regard  to  poor  old  Anna. 
Something  of  the  kind  had,  indeed,  happened  on  this 
very  morning,  less  than  two  hours  ago.  And  at  the 
time  it  had  been  very  painful,  very  disagreeable.  .  .  . 

Mrs.  Otway  and  her  daughter,  each  opening  a 
newspaper  before  beginning  breakfast,  had  looked  up, 
and  in  awe-struck  tones  simultaneously  exclaimed, 
"Why,  we  are  at  war!"  and  "War  has  been  de- 
clared!" And  then  Mrs.  Otway,  as  was  her  wont, 
had  fallen  into  eager,  impulsive  talk.  But  she  had 
to  stop  abruptly  when  .the  dining-room  door  opened 
— for  it  revealed  the  short,  stumpy  figure  of  Anna, 
smiling,  indeed  beaming  even  more  than  usual,  as 
she  brought  in  the  coffee  she  made  so  well.  Mother 
and  daughter  had  looked  at  one  another  across  the 
table,  an  unspoken  question  in  each  pair  of  kind  eyes. 
That  question  was :  Did  poor  old  Anna  know? 

The  answer  came  with  dramatic  swiftness,  and  in 
the  negative.  Anna '  approached  her  mistress,  still 
with  that  curious  look  of  beaming  happiness  in  her 
round,  fat,  plain  face,  and  after  she  had  put  down 
the  coffee-jug  she  held  out  her  work-worn  hand.  On 
it  was  a  pink  card,  and  in  her  excitement  she  broke 
into  eager  German. 

"The  child  has  come!"  she  exclaimed.  "Look! 
This  is  what  I  have  received,  gracious  lady,"  and  she 
put  the  card  on  her  mistress's  plate. 

What  was  written,  or  rather  printed,  on  that  fancy- 
looking  card,  ran,  when  Englished,  as  follows : 


i8  Good  Old  Anna 

THE  JOYOUS  BIRTH  OF  A  LARGE-EYED  SUNDAY  MAIDEN 

IS  ANNOUNCED,  ULTRA- JUBILANTLY,  BY 

WILHELM  WARSHAUER,  SUB-INSPECTOR  OF  POLICE  IN 
BERLIN,  AND  WIFE  MINNA,  BORN  BROCKMANN. 

Of  course  they  both  congratulated  their  good  old 
Anna  very  heartily  on  the  birth  of  the  little  great- 
niece  in  Berlin — indeed  Rose,  jumping  up  from  the 
table,  had  surprised  her  mother  by  giving  her  old 
nurse  a  hug.  "I'm  so  glad,  dear  Anna !  How  happy 
they  seem  to  be!" 

But  when  Anna  had  returned  to  her  kitchen  the 
two  ladies  had  gone  on  silently  and  rather  sadly  with 
their  breakfasts  and  their  papers;  and  after  she  had 
finished,  Mrs.  Otway,  with  a  heavy  heart,  had  walked 
across  the  hall,  to  her  pretty  kitchen,  to  tell  Anna 
the  great  and  tragic  news. 

The  kitchen  of  the  Trellis  House  was  oddly  situated 
just  opposite  Mrs.  Otway's  sitting-room  and  at  right 
angles  to  the  dining-room.  Thus  the  two  long 
Georgian  windows  of  Anna's  domain  commanded  the 
wide  green  of  the  Cathedral  Close,  and  the  kitchen 
door  was  immediately  on  your  right  as  you  walked 
through  the  front  door  into  the  arched  hall  of  the 
house. 

On  this  momentous  morning  Anna's  mistress  found 
the  old  German  woman  sitting  at  her  large  wooden 
table  writing  a  letter.  When  Mrs.  Otway  came  in, 
Anna  looked  up  and  smiled;  but  she  did  not  rise,  as 
an  English  servant  would  have  done. 

Mrs.  Otway  walked  across  to  her,  and  very  kindly 
she  laid  her  hand  on  the  older  woman's  shoulder. 

"I  have  something  sad  to  tell  you,"  she  said  gently. 


Good  Old  Anna  19 

"England,  my  poor  Anna,  is  at  war!  England  has 
declared  war  on  Germany!  But  I  have  come  to  tell 
you,  also,  that  the  fact  that  our  countries  are  at  war 
will  make  no  difference  to  you  and  to  me,  Anna — 
will  it?" 

Anna  had  looked  up,  and  for  a  moment  she  had 
seemed  bewildered,  stunned  by  the  news.  Then  all 
the  colour  had  receded  from  her  round  face ;  it  became 
discomposed,  covered  with  red  streaks.  She  broke 
into  convulsive  sobs  as,  shaking  her  head  violently, 
she  exclaimed,  "Nein!  Nein!" 

If  only  poor  old  Anna  had  left  it  there!  But 
she  had  gone  on,  amid  her  sobs,  to  speak  wildly,  dis- 
connectedly, and  yes — yes,  rather  arrogantly  too,  of 
the  old  war  with  France  in  1870 — of  her  father,  and 
of  her  long-dead  brother;  how  both  of  them  had 
fought,  how  gloriously  they  had  conquered! 

Mrs.  Otway  had  begun  by  listening  in  silence  to  this 
uncalled-for  outburst.  But  at  last,  with  a  touch  of 
impatience,  she  broke  across  these  ill-timed  reminis- 
cences with  the  words,  "But  now,  Anna?  Now 
there  is  surely  no  one  belonging  to  your  family  likely 
to  fight?  No  one,  I  mean,  likely  to  fight  against 
England?" 

The  old  woman  stared  at  her  stupidly,  as  if  scarcely 
understanding  the  sense  of  what  was  being  said  to 
her;  and  Mrs.  Otway,  with  a  touch  of  decision  in 
her  voice,  had  gone  on — "How  fortunate  it  is  that 
your  Louisa  married  an  Englishman!" 

But  on  that  Anna  had  again  shaken  her  head 
violently.  "No,  no!"  she  cried.  "Would  that 
a  German  married  she  had — an  honest,  heart-good 
German,  not  a  man  like  that  bad,  worthless  George!" 


2O  Good  Old  Anna 

To  this  surely  unnecessary  remark  Mrs.  Otway  had 
made  no  answer.  It  was  unluckily  true  that  Anna's 
English  son-in-law  lacked  every  virtue  dear  to  a  Ger- 
man heart.  He  was  lazy,  pleasure-loving,  dishonest 
in  small  petty  ways,  and  contemptuous  of  his  thrifty 
wife's  anxious  efforts  to  save  money.  Still,  though 
it  was  not  perhaps  wise  to  say  so  just  now,  it  would 
certainly  have  been  a  terrible  complication  if  "little 
Louisa,"  as  they  called  her  in  that  household,  had 
married  a  German — a  German  who  would  have  had 
to  go  back  to  the  Fatherland  to  take  up  arms,  per- 
haps, against  his  adopted  country !  Anna  ought  surely 
to  see  the  truth  of  that  to-day,  however  unpalatable 
that  truth  might  be. 

But,  sad  to  say,  good  old  Anna  had  been  strangely 
lacking  in  her  usual  good  sense,  and  sturdy  good- 
humour,  this  morning.  Not  content  with  that  un- 
called-for remark  concerning  her  English  son-in-law, 
she  had  wailed  out  something  about  "Willi" — for  so 
she  always  called  Wilhelm  Warshauer — the  nephew 
by  marriage  to  whom  she  had  become  devotedly  at- 
tached during  the  pleasant  holiday  she  had  spent  in 
Germany  three  years  ago. 

"I  do  not  think  Willi  is  in  the  least  likely  to  go 
to  the  war  and  be  killed,"  said  Mrs.  Otway  at  last, 
a  little  sharply.  "Why,  he  is  in  the  police — a  sub- 
inspector!  They  would  never  dream  of  sending  him 

away.  And  then Anna?  I  wish  you  would 

listen  to  me  quietly  for  a  moment — 

Anna  fixed  her  glazed,  china-blue  eyes  anxiously  on 
her  mistress. 

"If  you  go  on  in  this  way  you  will  make  yourself 
quite  ill;  and  that  wouldn't  do  at  all!  I  am  quite 


Good  Old  Anna  21 

sure  that  you  will  soon  hear  from  your  niece  that 
Willi  is  quite  safe,  that  he  is  remaining  on  in  Berlin. 
England  and  Germany  are  civilised  nations  after  all! 
There  need  not  be  any  unreasonable  bitterness  between 
them.  Only  the  soldiers  and  sailors,  not  our  two 
nations,  will  be  at  war,  Anna." 

Yes,  the  recollection  of  what  had  happened  this 
morning  left  an  aftermath  of  bitterness  in  Mrs.  Ot- 
way's  kind  heart.  It  was  only  too  true  that  it  would 
sometimes  be  awkward ;  in  saying  so  downright  Miss 
Forsyth  had  been  right!  She  told  herself,  however, 
that  after  a  few  days  they  surely  would  all  get  accus- 
tomed to  this  strange,  unpleasant,  new  state  of 
things.  Why,  during  the  long  Napoleonic  wars 
Witanbury  had  always  been  on  the  qui  vive,  expecting 
a  French  landing  on  the  coast — that  beautiful  coast 
which  was  as  lonely  now  as  it  had  been  then,  and 
which,  thanks  to  motors  and  splendid  roads,  seemed 
much  nearer  now  than  then.  England  had  gone  on 
much  as  usual  a  hundred  years  ago.  Mrs.  Otway 
even  reminded  herself  that  Jane  Austen,  during  those 
years  of  stress  and  danger,  had  been  writing  her 
delightful,  her  humorous,  her  placid  studies  of  life  as 
though  there  were  no  war! 

And  then,  perhaps  because  of  her  invocation  of 
that  dear,  shrewd  mistress  of  the  average  British  hu- 
man heart,  Mrs.  Otway,  feeling  far  more  comfortable 
than  she  had  yet  felt  since  her  talk  with  Miss  Forsyth, 
began  retracing  her  steps  towards  the  cathedral. 

She  was  glad  to  know  that  the  Dean  was  going  to 
give  a  little  address  this  morning.  It  was  sure  to  be 
kindly,  wise,  benignant — for  he  was  himself  all  these 


22  Good  Old  Anna 

three  things.  Many  delightful  German  thinkers, 
theologians  and  professors,  came  and  went  to  the 
Deanery,  and  Mrs.  Otway  was  always  asked  to  meet 
these  distinguished  folk,  partly  because  of  her  excel- 
lent knowledge  of  German,  and  also  because  the 
Dean  knew  that,  like  himself,  she  loved  Germany. 

And  now  she  turned  sick  at  heart,  as  she  suddenly 
realised  that  for  a  time,  at  any  rate,  these  pleasant 
meetings  would  take  place  no  more.  But  soon — or  so 
she  hoped  with  all  her  soul — this  strange  unnatural 
war  would  be  over.  Even  now  the  bubble  of  Prussian 
militarism  was  pricked,  for  the  German  Army  was 
not  doing  well  at  Liege.  During  the  last  two  or 
three  days  she  had  read  the  news  with  increasing 
amazement  and — but  she  hardly  admitted  it  to  her- 
self— with  dismay.  She  did  not  like  to  think  of  Ger- 
mans breaking  and  running  away!  It  had  hurt  her, 
made  her  angry,  to  hear  the  exultation  with  which 
some  of  her  neighbours  had  spoken  of  the  news.  It 
was  all  very  well  to  praise  the  gallant  little  Belgians, 
but  why  should  that  be  done  at  the  expense  of  the 
Germans? 

Mrs.  Otway  suddenly  told  herself  that  she  hoped 
Major  Guthrie  would  not  be  at  the  cathedral  this 
morning.  Considering  that  they  disagreed  about  almost 
everything,  it  was  odd  what  friends  he  and  she  were ! 
But 'about  Germany  they  had  never  agreed,  and  that 
was  the  more  strange  inasmuch  as  Major  Guthrie  had 
spent  quite  a  long  time  in  Stuttgart.  He  thought  the 
Germans  of  to-day  entirely  unlike  the  Germans  of  the 
past.  He  honestly  believed  them  to  be  unprincipled, 
untrustworthy,  and  unscrupulous ;  and,  strangest  thing 
of  all — or  so  Mrs.  Otway  had  thought  till  within  the 


Good  Old  Anna  23 

last  few  days — he  had  long  been  convinced  that  they 
intended  to  conquer  Europe  by  force  of  arms!  So 
strong  was  this  conviction  of  his  that  he  had  given 
time,  and  yes,  money  too,  to  the  propaganda  carried 
on  by  Lord  Roberts  in  favour  of  National  Service. 

It  was  odd  that  a  man  whose  suspicions  of  the 
country  which  was  to  her  so  dear  almost  amounted 
to  a  monomania,  should  have  become  her  friend. 
But  so  it  was.  In  fact,  Major  Guthrie  was  her  only 
man  friend.  He  advised  her  about  all  the  things 
concerning  which  men  are  supposed  to  know  more 
than  women — such  as  investments,  for  instance.  Of 
course  she  did  not  always  take  his  advice,  but  it  was 
often  a  comfort  to  talk  things  out  with  him,  and  she 
had  come  instinctively  to  turn  to  him  when  in  any 
little  trouble.  Few  days  passed  without  Major 
Guthrie's  calling,  either  by  chance  or  in  response  to  a 
special  invitation,  at  the  Trellis  House. 

Unfortunately,  or  was  it  fortunately?  the  hand- 
some old  mother,  for  whose  sake  Major  Guthrie  had 
left  the  Army  three  years  ago,  didn't  care  for  clerical 
society.  She  only  liked  country  people  and  Lon- 
doners. As  far  as  Mrs.  Otway  could  dislike  any  one, 
she  disliked  Mrs.  Guthrie;  but  the  two  ladies  seldom 
had  occasion  to  meet — the  Guthries  lived  in  a  pretty 
old  house  in  Dorycote,  a  village  two  miles  from 
Witanbury.  Also  Mrs.  Guthrie  was  more  or  less 
chair-ridden,  and  Mrs.  Otway  had  no  carriage. 

The  bells  of  the  cathedral  suddenly  broke  across 
her  troublesome,  disconnected  thoughts.  Mrs.  Otway 
never  heard  those  chimes  without  a  wave  of  remem- 
brance, sometimes  very  slight,  sometimes  like  to-day 


24  Good  Old  Anna 

quite  strong  and  insistent,  of  past  joys  and  sorrows. 
Those  bells  were  interwoven  with  the  whole  of  her 
wifehood,  motherhood,  and  widowhood ;  they  had  rung 
for  her  wedding,  they  had  mustered  the  tiny  con- 
gregation who  had  been  present  at  Rose's  christening ; 
the  great  bell  had  tolled  the  day  her  husband  had 
died,  and  again  to  bid  the  kindly  folk  of  Witanbury  to 
his  simple  funeral.  Some  day,  perhaps,  the  bells 
would  ring  a  joyful  peal  in  honour  of  Rose's  wedding. 

As  she  walked  up  the  path  which  leads  from  the 
road  encircling  the  Qose  to  the  cathedral,  she  tried 
to  compose  and  attune  her  mind  to  solemn,  peaceful 
thoughts. 

There  was  a  small  congregation,  perhaps  thirty  in 
all,  gathered  together  in  the  choir,  but  the  atmos- 
phere of  that  tiny  gathering  of  people  was  slightly 
electric  and  charged  with  emotion.  The  wife  of  the 
Dean,  a  short,  bustling  lady,  who  had  never  been  so 
popular  in  Witanbury  and  its  neighbourhood  as  was 
her  husband,  came  forward  and  beckoned  to  Mrs.  Ot- 
way.  "If  no  one  else  comes  in,"  she  whispered,  "I 
think  we  might  all  come  up  a  little  nearer.  The  Dean 
is  going  to  say  a  few  words  about  the  war." 

And  though  a  few  more  people  did  come  in  during 
the  five  minutes  that  followed,  the  whole  of  the  little 
congregation  finally  collected  in  the  stalls  nearest  the 
altar.  And  it  was  not  from  the  ornate  white  stone 
pulpit,  but  from  the  steps  of  the  altar,  that  the  Dean, 
after  the  short  service  was  over,  delivered  his  address. 

For  what  seemed  a  long  time — it  was  really  only  a 
very  few  moments — Dr.  Haworth  stood  there,  looking 
thoughtfully  at  this  little  gathering  of  his  fellow- 
countrymen  and  countrywomen.  Then  he  began  speak- 


Good  Old  Anna  25 

ing.  With  great  simplicity  and  directness  he  alluded 
to  the  awesome  news  which  this  morning  had  brought 
to  them,  to  England.  England's  declaration  of  war 
against  their  great  neighbour,  Germany — their  great 
neighbour,  and  they  should  never  forget,  the  only 
other  great  European  nation  which  shared  with  them 
the  blessings,  he  was  willing  to  admit  the  perhaps  in 
some  ways  doubtful  blessings,  brought  about  by  the 
Reformation. 

On  hearing  these  words,  three  or  four  of  his  hear- 
ers moved  a  little  restlessly  in  their  seats,  but  soon 
even  they  settled  themselves  down  to  take  in,  and  to 
approve,  what  he  had  to  say. 

England  was  going  to  war,  however,  in  a  just  cause, 
to  make  good  her  promise  to  a  small  and  weak  nation. 
She  had  often  drawn  her  sword  on  behalf  of  the 
oppressed,  and  never  more  rightly  than  now.  But  it 
would  be  wrong  indeed  for  England  to  allow  her 
heart  to  be  filled  with  bitterness.  It  was  probable  that 
even  at  this  moment  a  large  number  of  Germans  were 
ashamed  of  what  had  happened  last  Monday — he 
alluded  to  the  Invasion  of  Belgium.  Frederick  the 
Great  had  once  said  that  God  was  always  on  the  side 
of  the  big  battalions ;  in  so  saying  he  had  been  wrong. 
Even  in  the  last  two  or  three  days  they  had  seen  how 
wrong.  Belgium  was  putting  up  a  splendid  defence, 
and  the  time  might  come — he,  the  speaker,  hoped  it 
would  be  very  soon — when  Germany  would  realise 
that  Might  is  not  Right,  when  she  would  confess, 
with  the  large-hearted  chivalry  possible  to  a  great  and 
powerful  nation,  that  she  had  been  wrong. 

Meanwhile  the  Dean  wished  to  impress  on  his 
hearers  the  need  for  a  generous  broad-mindedness  in 


26  Good  Old  Anna 

their  attitude  towards  the  foe.  England  was  a  great 
civilised  nation,  and  so  was  Germany.  The  war 
would  be  fought  in  an  honourable,  straightforward 
manner,  as  between  high-souled  enemies.  Christian 
chanty  enjoined  on  us  to  be  especially  kind  and  con- 
siderate to  those  Germans  who  happened  to  be  caught 
by  this  sad  state  of  things,  in  our  midst.  He  had 
heard  these  people  spoken  of  that  morning  as  "alien 
enemies."  For  his  part  he  would  not  care  to  describe 
by  any  such  offensive  terms  those  Germans  who  were 
settled  in  England  in  peaceful  avocations.  The  war 
was  not  of  their  making,  and  those  poor  foreigners 
were  caught  up  in  a  terrible  web  of  tragic  circum- 
stance. He  himself  had  many  dear  and  valued  friends 
in  Germany,  professors  whose  only  aim  in  life  was  the 
spread  of  "Kultur,"  not  perhaps  quite  the  same  thing 
as  we  meant  by  the  word  culture,  for  the  German 
"Kultur"  meant  something  with  a  wider,  more  uni- 
versal significance.  He  hoped  the  time  would  come, 
sooner  perhaps  than  many  pessimists  thought  possible, 
when  those  friends  would  acknowledge  that  Eng- 
land had  drawn  her  sword  in  a  righteous  cause  and 
that  Germany  had  been  wrong  to  provoke  her. 


CHAPTER   III 

WHILE  Mrs.  Otway  had  been  thinking  over  the 
now  rather  painful  problem  of  her  good  old 
Anna,  the  subject  of  her  meditations,  that  is  Anna 
herself,  from  behind  the  pretty  muslin  curtain  which 
hid  her  kitchen  from  the  passers-by,  was  peeping  out 
anxiously  on  the  lawn-like  stretch  of  green  grass, 
bordered  on  two  sides  by  high  elms,  which  is  so 
pleasant  a  feature  of  Witanbury  Close. 

Her  knitting  was  in  her  hands,  for  Anna's  fingers 
were  never  idle,  but  just  now  the  needles  were  still. 

When  your  kitchen  happens  to  be  one  of  the  best 
rooms  on  the  ground  floor,  and  one  commanding  not 
only  the  gate  of  your  domain  but  the  road  beyond,  it 
becomes  important  that  it  should  not  be  quite  like 
other  people's  kitchens.  It  was  Mrs.  Otway's  pride, 
as  well  as  Anna's,  that  at  any  moment  of  the  day  a 
visitor  who,  after  walking  into  the  hall,  opened  by 
mistake  the  kitchen  door,  would  have  found  every- 
thing there  in  exquisite  order.  The  shelves,  indeed, 
were  worth  going  some  way  to  see,  for  each  shelf  was 
edged  with  a  beautiful  "Kante"  or  border  of  crochet- 
work  almost  as  fine  as  point  lace.  In  fact,  the  kitchen 
of  the  Trellis  House  was  more  like  a  stage  kitchen 
than  a  kitchen  in  an  ordinary  house,  and  the  way  in 
which  it  was  kept  was  the  more  meritorious  inasmuch 
as  Anna,  even  now,  when  she  had  become  an  old 
woman,  would  have  nothing  of  what  is  in  England 
called  "help."  She  had  no  wish  to  see  a  charwoman 

27 


28  Good  Old  Anna 

in  her  kitchen.  Fortunately  for  her,  there  lay,  just 
off  and  behind  the  kitchen,  a  roomy  scullery,  where 
most  of  the  dirty,  and  what  may  be  called  the  smelly, 
work  connected  with  cooking  was  done. 

To  the  left  of  the  low-ceilinged,  spacious,  rather 
dark  scullery  was  Anna's  own  bedroom.  Both  the 
scullery  and  the  servant's  room  were  much  older 
than  the  rest  of  the  house,  for  the  picturesque  gabled 
bit  of  brown  and  red  brick  building  which  projected 
into  the  garden,  at  the  back  of  the  Trellis  House, 
belonged  to  Tudor  days,  to  those  spacious  times  when 
the  great  cathedral  just  across  the  green  was  a  new 
pride  and  joy  to  the  good  folk  of  Witanbury. 

As  Anna  stood  at  one  of  the  kitchen  windows, 
peeping  out  at  the  quiet  scene  outside,  but  not  draw- 
ing aside  the  curtain — for  that  she  knew  was  for- 
bidden to  her,  and  Anna  very  seldom  consciously  did 
anything  she  knew  to  be  forbidden — she  felt  far  more 
unhappy  and  far  more  disturbed  than  did  Mrs.  Otway 
herself. 

This  morning's  news  had  stirred  poor  old  Anna — • 
stirred  her  more  profoundly  than  even  her  kind 
mistress  guessed.  Mrs.  Otway  would  have  been  sur- 
prised indeed  had  it  been  revealed  to  her  that  ever 
since  breakfast  Anna  had  spent  a  very  anxious  time 
thinking  over  her  own  immediate  future,  wondering 
with  painful  indecision  as  to  whether  it  were  not 
her  duty  to  go  back  to  Germany.  But  whereas  Mrs. 
Otway  had  the  inestimable  advantage  of  being  quite 
sure  that  she  knew  what  it  was  best  for  Anna  to  do, 
the  old  German  woman  herself  was  cruelly  torn 
between  what  was  due  to  her  mistress,  to  her  married 
daughter,  and,  yes,  to  herself. 


Good  Old  Anna  29 

How  unutterably  amazed  Mrs.  Otway  would  have 
been  this  morning  had  she  known  that  more  than  a 
month  ago  Anna  had  received  a  word  of  warning 
from  Berlin.  But  so  it  was :  her  niece  had  written  to 
her,  "It  is  believed  that  war  this  summer  there  is  to 
be.  Willi  has  been  warned  that  something  shortly 
will  happen." 

And  now,  as  Anna  stood  there  anxiously  peeping 
out  at  the  figure  of  her  mistress  pacing  up  and  down 
under  the  avenue  of  high  elms  across  the  green,  she 
did  not  give  more  than  a  glancing  thought  to  Eng- 
land's part  in  the  conflict,  for  her  whole  heart  was 
absorbed  in  the  dread  knowledge  that  Germany  was 
at  war  with  terrible,  barbarous  Russia,  and  with  pros- 
perous, perfidious  France. 

England,  so  Anna  firmly  believed,  had  no  army  to 
speak  of — no  real  army.  She  remembered  the  day 
when  France  had  declared  war  on  Germany  in  1870. 
How  at  once  every  street  of  the  little  town  in  which 
she  had  lived  had  become  full  of  soldiers — splendid, 
lion-hearted  soldiers  going  off  to  fight  for  their  be- 
loved Fatherland.  Nothing  of  the  sort  had  taken 
place  here,  though  Witanbury  was  a  garrison  town. 
The  usual  tradesmen,  strong,  lusty  young  men,  had 
called  for  orders  that  morning.  They  had  laughed 
and  joked  as  usual.  Not  one  of  them  seemed  aware 
his  country  was  at  war.  The  old  German  woman's 
lip  curled  disdainfully. 

For  the  British,  as  a  people,  Anna  Bauer  cherished 
a  tolerant  affection  and  kindly  contempt.  It  was  true 
that,  all  unknowing  to  herself,  she  also  had  a  great 
belief  in  British  generosity  and  British  justice.  The 
idea  that  this  war,  or  rather  the  joining  in  of  England 


30  Good  Old  Anna 

with  France  against  Germany,  could  affect  her  own 
position  or  condition  in  England  would  have  seemed 
to  her  absurd. 

Germany  and  England?  A  contrast  indeed!  In 
Germany  her  son-in-law,  that  idle  scamp  George 
Pollit,  would  by  now  be  marching  on  his  way  to 
the  French  or  Russian  frontier.  But  George,  being 
English,  was  quite  safe — unfortunately.  The  only 
difference  the  war  would  make  to  him  would  be  that 
it  would  provide  him  with  an  excuse  for  trying  to 
get  at  some  of  Anna's  carefully-hoarded  savings. 

If  good  old  Anna  had  a  fault — and  curiously  enough 
it  was  one  of  which  her  mistress  was  quite  unaware, 
though  Rose  had  sometimes  uncomfortably  suspected 
the  fact — it  was  a  love  of  money. 

Anna,  in  spite  of  her  low  wages,  had  saved  far 
more  than  an  English  servant  earning  twice  as  much 
would  have  done.  Her  low  wage?  Yes,  still  low, 
though  she  had  been  raised  four  pounds  a  year  when 
her  mistress  had  come  into  a  better  income.  Before 
then  Anna  had  been  content  with  sixteen  pounds  a 
year.  She  now  received  twenty  pounds,  but  she  was 
ruefully  aware  that  she  was  worth  half  as  much  again. 
In  fact  thirty  pounds  a  year  had  actually  been  offered 
to  her,  in  a  roundabout  way,  by  a  lady  who  had 
come  as  a  visitor  to  a  house  in  the  Close.  But  the 
lady,  like  Anna  herself,  was  a  German;  and,  apart 
altogether  from  every  other  consideration,  including 
Anna's  passionate  love  of  Miss  Rose,  nothing  would 
have  made  her  take  service  with  a  mistress  of  her  own 
nationality. 

"This  Mrs.  Hirsch  me  to  save  her  money  wants. 
Her  kind  I  know,"  she  observed  to  the  emissary  who 


Good  Old  Anna  31 

had  been  sent  to  sound  her.  "You  can  say  that  Anna 
Bauer  a  good  mistress  has,  and  knows  when  she  well 
suited  is." 

She  had  said  nothing  of  the  matter  to  Mrs.  Otway, 
but  even  so  she  sometimes  thought  of  that  offer,  and 
she  often  felt  a  little  sore  when  she  reflected  on  the 
wages  some  of  the  easy-going  servants  who  formed 
part  of  the  larger  households  in  the  Close  received 
from  their  employers. 

Yet,  in  this,  all-important  matter  of  money  a  stroke 
of  extraordinary  good  luck  had  befallen  Anna — one 
of  those  things  that  very  seldom  come  to  pass  in  our 
work-a-day  world.  It  had  happened,  or  perhaps  it 
would  be  truer  to  say  it  had  begun — for,  unlike  most 
pieces  of  good  fortune,  it  was  continuous — just  three 
years  ago,  in  the  autumn  of  1911,  shortly  after  her 
return  from  that  glorious  holiday  at  Berlin.  This 
secret  stroke  of  luck,  for  she  kept  it  jealously  to  her- 
self, though  there  was  nothing  about  it  at  all  to  her 
discredit,  had  now  lasted  for  over  thirty  months,  and 
it  had  had  the  agreeable  effect  of  greatly  increasing 
her  powers  of  saving.  Of  saving,  that  is,  against  the 
day  when  she  would  go  back  to  Germany,  and  live 
with  her  niece. 

Mrs.  Otway  would  have  been  surprised  indeed  had 
she  known  that  Anna  not  only  meant  to  leave  the 
Trellis  House,  but  that,  in  a  quiet,  reflective  kind  of 
way,  she  actually  looked  forward  to  doing  so.  Miss 
Rose  wo.uld  surely  marry,  for  a  good  many  pleasant- 
mannered  gentlemen  came  and  went  to  the  Trellis 
House  (though  none  of  them  were  as  rich  as  Anna 
would  have  liked  one  of  them  to  be),  and  she  herself 
would  get  past  her  work.  When  that  had  come  to 


32  Good  Old  Anna 

pass  she  would  go  and  live  with  her  niece  in  Berlin. 
She  had  not  told  her  daughter  of  this  arrangement, 
and  it  had  been  spoken  of  by  Willi  and  her  niece  more 
as  a  joke  than  anything  else;  still,  Anna  generally 
managed  to  carry  through  what  she  had  made  up  her 
mind  to  accomplish. 

But  on  this  August  morning,  standing  there  by  the 
kitchen  window  of  the  Trellis  House,  the  future  was 
far  from  good  old  Anna's  mind.  Her  mind  was  fixed 
on  the  present.  How  tiresome,  how  foolish  of  Eng- 
land to  have  mixed  up  with  a  quarrel  which  did 
not  concern  her !  How  strange  that  she,  Anna  Bauer, 
in  spite  of  that  word  of  warning  from  Berlin,  had 
suspected  nothing! 

As  a  matter  of  fact  Mrs.  Otway  had  said  something 
to  her  about  Servia  and  Austria — something,  too, 
more  in  sorrow  than  in  anger,  of  Germany  "rattling 
her  sword."  But  she,  Anna,  had  only  heard  with 
half  an  ear.  Politics  were  out  of  woman's  province. 
But  there!  English  ladies  were  like  that. 

Many  a  time  had  Anna  laughed  aloud  over  the 
antics  of  the  Suffragettes.  About  a  month  ago  the 
boy  who  brought  the  meat  had  given  her  a  long 
account  of  a  riot — it  had  been  a  very  little  one — 
provoked  by  one  such  lady  madwoman  in  the  market- 
place of  Witanbury  itself.  In  wise  masculine  Ger- 
many the  lady's  relatives  (for,  strange  to  say,  the 
Suffragette  in  question  had  been  a  high-born  lady) 
would  have  put  her  in  the  only  proper  place  for  her, 
an  idiot  asylum. 

Anna  had  been  genuinely  shocked  and  distressed  on 
learning  that  her  beloved  nursling,  Miss  Rose,  secretly 
rather  sympathised  with  this  mad  female  wish  for  a 


Good  Old  Anna  33 

vote.  Why,  in  Germany  only  some  of  the  men  had 
votes,  and  yet  Germany  was  the  most  glorious,  pros- 
perous, and  much-to-be-feared  nation  in  the  world. 
"Church,  Kitchen,  and  Children" — that  should  be,  and 
in  the  Fatherland  still  was,  every  true  woman's  motto 
and  province. 

Anna's  mind  came  back  with  a  sudden  jerk  to  this 
morning's  surprising,  almost  incredible  news.  Since 
her  two  ladies  had  gone  out,  she  had  opened  the 
newspapers  on  her  kitchen  table  and  read  the  words 
for  herself — "England  Declares  War  on  Germany." 
But  how  could  England  do  such  a  thing,  when  Eng- 
land had  no  Army?  True,  she  had  ships — but  then 
so  now  had  Germany! 

During  that  blissful  holiday  in  Berlin,  Anna  had 
been  persuaded  to  join  the  German  Navy  League. 
She  had  not  meant  to  keep  up  her  subscription,  small 
though  it  was,  after  her  return  to  England,  but  rather 
to  her  disgust  she  had  found  that  one  of  the  few 
Germans  she  knew  in  Witanbury  represented  the 
League,  and  that  her  name  had  been  sent  to  him  as 
that  of  a  new  member.  Twice  he  had  called  at  the 
tradesmen's  entrance  to  the  Trellis  House,  and  had 
demanded  the  sum  of  one  shilling  from  her. 

To-day  Anna  remembered  with  satisfaction  those 
payments  she  had  grudged.  Thanks  to  her  patriotism, 
and  that  of  millions  like  her,  Germany  had  now  a 
splendid  fleet  with  which  to  withstand  her  enemies. 
She  wondered  if  that  fleet  (for  which  she  had  helped 
to  pay)  would  ensure  the  safe  delivery  of  parcels  and 
letters.  Probably  yes. 

With  a  relieved  look  on  her  face,  the  old  woman 


34  Good  Old  Anna 

dropped  the  curtains,  and  went  back  to  the  table  and 
to  her  knitting. 

Suddenly,  with  what  seemed  uncanny  suddenness, 
the  telephone  bell  rang  in  the  hall. 

Now  Anna  had  never  got  used  to  the  telephone. 
She  had  not  opposed  its  introduction  into  the  Trellis 
House,  because  it  had  been  done  by  Miss  Rose's  wish, 
but  once  it  was  installed,  Anna  had  bitterly  regretted 
its  being  there.  It  was  the  one  part  of  her  work  that 
she  carried  out  badly,  and  she  knew  that  this  was  so. 
Not  only  did  she  find  it  most  difficult  to  understand 
what  was  said  through  the  horrible  instrument,  but 
her  mistress's  friends  found  even  more  difficulty  in 
hearing  her,  Anna.  Sometimes — but  she  was  very 
much  ashamed  of  this — she  actually  allowed  the  tele- 
phone bell  to  go  on  ringing,  and  never  answered  it 
at  all!  She  only  did  this,  however,  when  her  two 
ladies  were  away  from  Witanbury,  and  when,  there- 
fore, the  message,  whatever  it  might  happen  to  be, 
could  not  possibly  be  delivered. 

She  waited  now,  hoping  that  the  instrument  would 
grow  weary,  and  leave  off  ringing.  But  no;  on  it 
went,  ping,  ping,  ping,  ping — so  at  last  very  reluc- 
tantly Anna  opened  the  kitchen  door  and  went  out 
into  the  hall. 

Taking  up  the  receiver,  she  said  in  a  grumpy  tone, 
"Ach!  What  is  it?  Yes?"  And  then  her  face 
cleared,  and  she  even  smiled  into  the  telephone 
receiver. 

To  her  great  surprise — but  the  things  that  had 
happened  to-day  were  so  extraordinary  that  there 
was  no  real  reason  why  she  should  be  surprised  at 


Good  Old  Anna 


anything  now  —  she  had  heard  the  voice  of  the  one 
German  in  Witanbury  —  and  there  were  a  good  many 
Germans  in  Witanbury  —  with  whom  she  was  on  really 
friendly  terms. 

This  was  a  certain  Fritz  Frohling,  a  pleasant  elderly 
man  who,  like  herself,  had  been  in  England  a  long 
time  —  in  fact  in  his  case  nearer  forty  than  twenty 
years.  He  was  a  barber  and  hairdresser,  and  did  a 
very  flourishing  business  with  the  military  gentlemen 
of  the  garrison.  So  Anglicised  had  he  and  his  wife 
become  that  their  son  was  in  the  British  Army,  where 
he  had  got  on  very  well,  and  had  been  promoted  to 
sergeant.  Even  among  themselves,  when  Anna  spent 
an  evening  with  them,  the  Frohlings  generally  talked 
English.  Still,  Frohling  was  a  German  of  the  good 
old  sort;  that  is,  he  had  never  become  naturalised. 
But  he  was  a  Socialist;  he  did  not  share  Anna's 
enthusiasm  for  the  Kaiser,  the  Kaiserine,  and  their 
stalwart  sons. 

This  was  the  first  time  he  had  ever  telephoned  to 
her.  "Is  it  Frau  Bauer  that  I  am  addressing?" 

And  Anna,  slightly  thrilled  by  the  unusual  appella- 
tion, answered,  "Yes,  yes  —  it  is,  Herr  Frohling." 

"With  you  a  talk  I  should  like  to  have,"  said  the 
friendly  familiar  voice.  "Could  I  this  afternoon  you 
see?"  " 

"Not  this  afternoon,"  answered  Anna,  "but  this 
evening,  I  think  yes.  My  mistress  will  I  ask  if  I  an 
evening  free  have  can." 

"Is  it  necessary  her  to  ask?"  The  question  was 
put  doubtfully. 

"Yes,  yes!    But  mind  she  will  not.    To  me  she  is 


36  Good  Old  Anna 

goodness  itself — never  more  good  than  this  morning 
she  was,"  shouted  back  Anna  loyally. 

"Fortunate  you  are,"  the  voice  became  rather  sharp 
and  dry.  "I  notice  already  have  to  quit — told  I  must 
skip." 

"Never!"  cried  Anna  indignantly.  "Who  has  that 
you  told?" 

"The  police." 

"A  bad  business,"  wailed  Anna.  She  was  shocked 
at  what  her  old  acquaintance  told  her.  "I  will  Mrs. 
Otway  ask  you  to  help,"  she  shouted  back. 

He  muttered  a  word  or  two  and  then,  "Unless 
before  eight  you  communicate,  Jane  and  I  expect  you 
this  evening. 

"Certainly,  Herr  Fronting." 


CHAPTER  IV 

AS  Mrs.  Otway  left  the  cathedral,  certain  remarks 
made  to  her  by  members  of  the  little  congrega- 
tion jarred  on  her,  and  made  her  feel,  almost  for  the 
first  time  in  her  life,  thoroughly  out  of  touch  with 
her  friends  and  neighbours. 

Some  one  whom  Mrs.  Otway  really  liked  and  re- 
spected came  up  to  her  and  exclaimed,  "I  couldn't 
help  feeling  sorry  the  Dean  did  not  mention  France 
and  the  French!  Any  one  listening  to  him  just  now 
would  have  thought  that  only  Germany  and  ourselves 
and  Belgium  were  involved  in  this  awful  business." 
And  then  the  speaker,  seeing  that  her  words  were  not 
very  acceptable,  added  quietly,  "But  of  course  the 
Dean,  with  so  many  German  friends,  is  in  a  difficult 
position  just  now."  In  fact,  almost  every  one  said 
something  that  hurt  and  annoyed  her,  and  that 
though  it  was  often  only  a  word  of  satisfaction  that 
at  last  England  had  gone  in,  as  more  than  one  of 
them  put  it,  "on  the  right  side." 

Passing  through  the  arch  of  the  square  gateway 
which  separates  the  town  from  the  Close,  Mrs.  Otway 
hurried  down  the  pretty,  quiet  street  which  leads  in 
a  rather  roundabout  way,  and  past  one  of  the  most 
beautiful  grey  stone  crosses  in  England,  into  the  great 
market  square  which  is  one  of  the  glories  of  the  fa- 
mous cathedral  city.  Once  there,  she  crossed  the  wide 
space,  part  cobbled,  part  paved,  and  made  her  way 
into  a  large  building  of  stucco  and  red  brick  which 

37 


38  Good  Old  Anna 

bore  above  its  plate-glass  windows  the  inscription  in 
huge  gilt  letters,  "THE  WITANBURY  STORES." 

The  Monday  Bank  Holiday  had  been  prolonged, 
and  so  the  Stores  were  only,  so  to  speak,  half  open. 
But  as  Mrs.  Otway  stepped  through  into  the  shadowed 
shop,  the  owner  of  the  Stores,  Manfred  Hegner  by 
name,  came  forward  to  take  her  orders  himself. 

Manfred  Hegner  was  quite  a  considerable  person 
in  Witanbury.  Not  only  was  he  the  biggest  retail 
tradesman  in  the  place,  and  an  active  member  of  the 
Witanbury  City  Council,  but  he  was  known  to  have 
all  sorts  of  profitable  irons  in  the  fire.  A  man  to 
keep  in  with,  obviously,  and  one  who  was  always 
willing  to  meet  one  half-way.  Because  of  his  German 
birth — he  had  been  naturalised  some  years  ago — and 
even  more  because  of  certain  facial  and  hirsute  pecu- 
liarities, he  went  by  the  nickname  of  "The  Kaiser." 

Mrs.  Otway  took  out  of  her  bag  a  piece  of  paper 
on  which  she  had  written  down,  at  her  old  Anna's 
dictation,  a  list  of  groceries  and  other  things  needed 
at  the  Trellis  House.  And  then  she  looked  round, 
instinctively,  towards  the  corner  of  the  large  shop 
where  all  that  remained  of  what  had  once  been  the 
mainstay  of  Manfred  Hegner 's  business  was  always 
temptingly  set  forth.  This  was  a  counter  of  Deli- 
catessen. Glancing  at  the  familiar  corner,  Mr.  Heg- 
ner's  customer  told  herself  that  her  eyes  must  be 
playing  her  false.  In  the  place  of  the  familiar  sau- 
sages, herrings,  the  pretty  coloured  basins  of  sauer- 
kraut, and  other  savoury  dainties,  there  now  stood 
nothing  but  a  row  of  large  uninteresting  Dutch 
cheeses ! 

The  man  who  was  waiting  attentively  by  her  side, 


Good  Old  Anna  39 

a  pencil  and  block  of  paper  in  his  hand,  saw  the  sur- 
prised, regretful  look  on  his  valued  customer's  face. 

"I  have  had  to  put  away  all  my  nice,  fresh  Delica- 
tessen," he  said  in  a  low  voice.  "It  seemed  wiser  to 
do  so,  gracious  lady."  He  spoke  in  German,  and  it 
was  in  German  that  she  answered. 

"Did  you  really  think  it  necessary  to  do  such  a 
thing?  I  think  you  are  unfair  on  your  adopted  coun- 
try, Mr.  Hegner!  English  people  are  not  so  unrea- 
sonable as  that." 

He  was  about  to  answer,  when  an  odd-looking  man, 
rather  like  a  sailor,  came  in,  and  Mr.  Hegner,  with 
a  hurried  "Please  excuse  me  one  minute,  ma'am," 
in  English,  went  off  to  attend  to  the  new  comer. 

As  Mr.  Hegner  went  across  his  shop,  Mrs.  Otway 
was  struck  by  his  curious  resemblance  to  the  German 
Emperor;  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  he  was  wearing 
a  long  white  apron,  he  had  quite  a  martial  air.  He 
certainly  deserved  his  nickname.  There  were  the 
same  piercing,  rather  prominent  eyes,  the  same  look 
of  energy  and  decision  in  his  face;  also  the  same 
peculiar  turned-up  moustache.  But  whereas  the  re- 
semblance last  week  would  have  brought  a  smile,  now 
it  brought  a  furrow  of  pain  to  the  English  lady's  kindly 
face. 

Poor  Manfred  Hegner!  What  must  he  and  thou- 
sands of  others  like  him — excellent,  industrious,  civil- 
spoken  Germans — feel  all  through  England  to-day? 
Mrs.  Otway,  who  had  always  liked  the  man,  and  who 
enjoyed  her  little  chats  with  him,  knew  perhaps  rather 
more  about  this  prosperous  tradesman  than  most  of 
the  Witanbury  people  knew.  She  was  aware  that 
he  had  been  something  of  a  rolling  stone;  he  had, 


40  Good  Old  Anna 

for  instance,  been  for  quite  a  long  time  in  America, 
and  it  was  there  that  he  had  shed  most  of  his  Ger- 
manisms of  language.  He  was  older  than  he  looked, 
and  his  son  by  a  first  marriage  lived  in  Germany — 
where,  however,  the  young  man  was  buyer  for  a 
group  of  English  firms  who  did  a  great  deal  of  busi- 
ness in  cheap  German-made  goods. 

His  conversation  with  the  odd-looking  stranger 
over,  Mr.  Hegner  hurried  back  to  where  his  valued 
customer  was  standing.  "Every  one  on  the  City 
Council  is  being  most  kind,"  he  said  suavely.  "And 
last  night  I  had  the  honour  of  meeting  the  Dean.  At 
his  suggestion  I  am  calling  a  little  meeting  this  eve- 
ning, here  in  my  Stores,  of  the  non-naturalised  Ger- 
mans of  this  town.  There  are  a  good  many  in 
Witanbury." 

And  then  Mrs.  Otway  suddenly  remembered  that 
the  man  now  standing  opposite  to  her  was  a  member 
of  the  City  Council.  She  remembered  that  some 
time  ago,  three  or  four  years  back  at  least,  some  dis- 
agreeable person  had  expressed  indignation  that  an 
ex-German,  one  only  just  naturalised,  should  be 
elected  to  such  a  body.  She  had  thought  the  speaker 
narrow-minded  and  ill-natured.  An  infusion  of  Ger- 
man thoroughness  and  thrift  would  do  the  City 
Council  good,  and  perhaps  keep  down  the  rates ! 

"But  you,  Mr.  Hegner,  have  been  naturalised  quite 
a  long  time,"  she  said  sympathetically. 

"Yes,  indeed,  gracious  lady!"  Mr.  Hegner  seemed 
surprised,  perhaps  a  thought  disturbed,  by  her  natural 
remark.  "I  took  out  my  certificate  before  I  built 
the  Stores,  and  just  after  I  had  married  my  excellent 


Good  Old  Anna  41 

little  English  wife.  Glad  indeed  am  I  now  that  I 
did  so!" 

"I  am  very  glad  too,"  said  Mrs.  Otway.  And  yet — < 
and  yet  she  felt  a  slight  quiver  of  discomfort.  The 
man  standing  there  was  so  very  German  after  all — 
German  not  only  in  his  appearance,  but  in  all  his 
little  ways!  If  nothing  else  had  proved  it,  his  rather 
absurd  nickname  was  clear  proof  that  so  he  was  even 
now  regarded  in  Witanbury. 

"And  how  about  your  son,  Mr.  Hegner?"  she 
asked.  "I  suppose  he  is  in  Germany  now  ?  You 
must  feel  rather  anxious  about  him." 

He  hesitated  oddly,  and  looked  round  him  before 
he  spoke.  Then,  vanquished,  maybe,  by  the  obvious 
sincerity  and  kindness  of  the  speaker,  he  answered, 
in  German,  and  almost  in  a  whisper.  "He  is,  I  fear, 
by  now  on  his  way  to  the  frontier.  But  may  I  ask 
a  favour  of  the  gracious  lady?  Do  not  speak  of  my 
son  to  the  people  of  Witanbury." 

"Then  he  was  never  naturalised?"  Mrs.  Otway 
also  spoke  in  a  low  voice — a  voice  full  of  pity  and 
concern. 

"No,  no,"  said  Mr.  Hegner  hastily.  "There  was 
no  necessity  for  him  to  be.  His  work  was  mostly, 
you  see,  over  there." 

"Still  he  was  educated  here,  surely?" 

"That  is  so,  gracious  lady.  He  talks  English  better 
even  than  I  do.  He  and  I  did  consider  the  question 
of  his  taking  out  a  certificate.  Then  we  decided  that, 
as  he  would  be  so  much  in  Germany,  it  was  better 
he  should  remain  German.  But  his  wife  is  an  English 
girl." 


42  Good  Old  Anna 

"How  sorry  you  must  be  now  that  he  did  not 
naturalise !"  she  exclaimed. 

An  odd  look  came  over  Manfred  Hegner's  face. 
"Yes,  it  is  very  regretful — the  more  so  that  it  would 
do  me  harm  if  it  were  known  in  the  town  that  I  had  a 
son  in  the  German  Army.  But  he  will  not  fight  against 
the  English,"  he  added  hastily.  "No  one  will  do  that 
but  the  German  sailors — is  not  that  so,  madam?" 

"I  really  don't  know." 

"If  at  any  time  the  gracious  lady  should  hear  any- 
thing of  the  sort,  I  should  be  grateful — nay,  far  more 
than  grateful  if  she  will  let  me  know  it!"  He  had 
lapsed  back  into  German,  and  Mrs.  Otway  smiled 
very  kindly  at  him. 

"Yes,  I  will  certainly  let  you  know  anything  I 
hear.  I  know  how  very  anxious  you  must  be  about 
this  sad  state  of  things." 

Mrs.  Otway  had  left  the  shop,  and  she  was  already 
some  way  back  across  the  Market  Place,  when  there 
came  the  rather  raucous  sound  of  an  urgent  voice 
in  her  ear.  Startled,  she  turned  round.  The  owner 
of  the  Witanbury  Stores  stood  by  her  side. 

"Pardon,  pardon!"  he  said  breathlessly.  "But 
would  you,  gracious  lady,  ask  your  servant"  (he  used 
the  German  word  "Stiitze")  "if  she  could  make  it 
convenient  to  join  our  gathering  this  evening  at  nine 
o'clock?  Frau  Anna  Bauer  is  so  very  highly  respected 
among  the  Germans  here  that  we  should  like  her  to 
be  present." 

"Certainly    I    will    arrange    for   Anna    to   come," 

/     answered  Mrs.  Otway.     "But  you  may  not  be  aware, 

•      Mr.  Hegner,  that  my  cook  has  become  to  all  intents 

and  purposes  quite  English — without,  of  course,"  she 


Good  Old  Anna  43 

hastily  corrected  herself,  "giving  up  her  love  for  the 
Fatherland.  She  has  only  one  relation  left  in  Ger- 
many, a  married  niece  in  Berlin.  Her  own  daughter 
is  the  wife  of  an  Englishman,  a  tradesman  in  London." 

"That  makes  no  difference,"  said  Manfred  Hegner; 
"she  will  be  welcome,  most  heartily  welcome,  to-night ! 
This  is  the  moment,  as  the  Reverend  Mr.  Dean  so 
well  put  it  to  me,  when  all  Germans  should  stick  to- 
gether, and  consult  as  to  the  wisest  and  best  thing  to 
do  in  their  own  interests." 

"Yes,  indeed,  Mr.  Hegner.  I  quite  agree  with 
the  Dean.  But  do  not  do  anything  to  upset  my  poor 
old  Anna.  She  really  is  not  involved  in  the  question 
at  all.  She  has  lived  with  me  nearly  twenty  years, 
and  my  daughter  and  I  regard  her  far  more  as  a 
friend  than  as  a  servant.  The  fact  that  she  is  German 
is  an  accident — the  merest  accident!  Nothing  in  her 
life,  thank  God,  will  be  changed  for  the  worse.  And, 
Mr.  Hegner?  I  should  like  to  say  one  more  thing." 
She  looked  earnestly  into  his  face,  but  even  she  could 
see  that  his  eyes  were  wandering,  and  that  there  was 
a  slight  look  of  apprehension  in  the  prominent  eyes 
now  fixed  on  a  group  of  farmers  who  stood  a  few 
yards  off  staring  at  him  and  at  Mrs.  Otway. 

"Yes,  gracious  lady,"  he  said  mechanically,  "I  am 
attending." 

"Do  not  think  that  English  people  bear  any  ill- 
feeling  to  you  and  your  great  country !  We  feel  that 
Germany,  by  breaking  her  word  to  Belgium,  has  put 
herself  in  the  wrong.  It  is  England's  duty  to  fight, 
not  her  pleasure,  Mr.  Hegner.  And  we  hope  with 
all  our  hearts  that  the  war  will  soon  be  over." 

He  murmured  a  word  of  respectful  assent.     And 


44  Good  Old  Anna 

then,  choosing  a  rather  devious  route,  skirting  the 
fine  old  Council  House,  which  is  the  most  distinctive 
feature  of  Witanbury  Market  Place,  he  hurried  back 
to  his  big  stores. 

Mrs.  Otway  opened  the  wrought-iron  gate  of  the 
Trellis  House  with  a  feeling  of  restful  satisfaction; 
but  there,  in  her  own  pretty,  peaceful  home,  a  not 
very  pleasant  surprise  awaited  her.  Good  old  Anna, 
hurrying  out  into  the  black  and  white  hall  to  meet 
her  gracious  lady,  did  not  receive  Mr.  Hegner's  kind 
invitation  as  her  mistress  had  supposed  she  would  do. 
A  look  of  indecision  and  annoyance  crossed  her  pink 
face. 

"Ach,  but  to  go  to  Mr.  Fronting  promised  have 
I,"  she  muttered. 

And  then  Mrs.  Otway  exclaimed,  "But  the  Froh- 
lings  are  Germans!  They  will  certainly  be  there 
themselves.  Mr.  Frohling  cannot  have  known  of  this 
meeting  when  he  and  his  wife  asked  you  to  supper. 
I  think,  Anna,  that  it  is  your  duty  to  attend  this 
gathering.  The  Dean  not  only  approves  of  it,  but, 
from  what  I  could  make  out,  he  actually  suggested 
that  it  should  take  place.  Of  course  I  know  it  makes 
no  real  difference  to  you;  but  still,  Anna,"  she  spoke 
reprovingly,  "you  should  not  forget  at  such  a  time 
as  this  that  you  are  German-born." 

The  old  woman  looked  up  quickly  at  her  mistress. 
Forget  she  was  German-born!  Mrs.  Otway  was  a 
most  good  lady,  a  most  kind  employer,  but  she  was 
sometimes  foolish,  very  very  foolish,  in  what  she 
said!  She,  Anna  Bauer,  had  often  noticed  it.  Still, 
averse  as  she  was  from  the  thought,  the  old  German 


Good  Old  Anna 


woman  was  ruefully  aware  that  she  would  have  to 
accept  Mr.  Hegner's  invitation.  When  it  came  to  a 
tussle  of  will  between  the  two,  herself  and  her  mis- 
tress, Mrs.  Otway  generally  won,  partly  because  she 
was,  after  all,  Anna's  employer,  and  also  because  she 
always  knew  exactly  what  it  was  she  wanted  Anna 
to  do.  Anna  was  emotional,  easily  touched,  highly 
excitable;  she  also  generally  knew  what  she  wanted, 
but  she  did  not  find  it  easy  to  force  her  will  on  others, 
least  of  all  on  her  beloved  if  not  exactly  admired 
mistress. 

Grumbling  under  her  breath,  she  retreated  into  her 
kitchen;  while  Mrs.  Otway,  feeling  tired  and  rather 
dispirited,  went  upstairs. 

The  back-door  bell  rang,  and  Anna  went  and 
opened  it.  A  boy  stood  there,  bearing  on  a  tray  not 
only  the  various  little  things  Mrs.  Otway  had  ordered 
at  the  Witanbury  Stores  half  an  hour  before,  but  also 
an  envelope  addressed  to  "Frau  Bauer."  Anna 
brought  the  things  into  the  kitchen,  then  she  opened 
with  interest  the  envelope  addressed  to  herself.  It 
contained  a  card,  elegantly  headed  : 

"THE  WITANBURY  STORES. 
Proprietor:    MANFRED  HEGNER." 

Across  it  were  written  in  German  the  words  :  "You 
are  bidden  to  a  meeting  at  the  above  address  to-night 
at  nine  o'clock.  There  will  be  cakes  and  coffee  served 
before  the  meeting  begins.  Entrance  by  Market 
Row." 


46  Good  Old  Anna 

Anna  read  the  words  again  and  again.  This  was 
treating  her  at  last  as  she  ought  always  to  have  been 
treated!  Anna  did  not  like  her  erst  fellow-country- 
man, and  she  considered  that  she  had  good  reason  for 
her  dislike.  Resentment  against  ingratitude  is  not 
confined  to  any  one  nationality. 

When  Manfred  Hegner  had  first  come  to  Witan- 
bury,  Anna  had  been  delighted  to  make  his  acquaint- 
ance, and  she  had  spent  many  happy  half -hours  chat- 
ting with  him  in  the  little  Delicatessen  shop  he  had 
established  in  Bridge  Street,  close  to  the  Market 
Place. 

Starting  with  only  the  goodwill  of  a  bankrupt  con- 
fectioner, he  had  very  soon  built  up  a  wonderfully 
prosperous  business.  But  his  early  success  had  been 
in  a  measure  undoubtedly  owing  to  Mrs.  Otway  and 
her  German  cook.  Mrs.  Otway  had  told  all  her 
friends  of  this  amusing  little  German  shop,  and  of 
the  good  things  which  were  to  be  bought  there.  Deli- 
catessen had  become  quite  the  fashion,  not  only  among 
the  good  people  of  Witanbury  itself,  but  among  the 
county  gentry  who  made  the  cathedral  town  their 
shopping  headquarters,  and  who  enjoyed  motoring 
in  there  to  spend  an  idly  busy  morning. 

Then  had  come  the  erection  of  the  big  Stores. 
Over  that  matter  quite  a  storm  had  arisen,  and  local 
feeling  had  been  very  mixed.  A  petition,  originated 
by  those  who  called  themselves  the  Art  Society  of 
Witanbury,  pointed  out  that  a  large  modern  building 
of  the  kind  proposed  would  ruin  the  old-world,  pic- 
turesque appearance  of  the  Market  Place.  But  the 
big  local  builder,  the  man  who  later  promoted  the 
election  of  Manfred  Hegner  on  to  the  City  Council, 


Good  Old  Anna  47 

bore  down  all  opposition,  and  a  group  of  charming 
old  gabled  houses — houses  that  were  little  more  than 
cottages,  and  therefore  perhaps  hardly  in  keeping  with 
the  Market  Place  of  so  prosperous  a  town  as  was 
Witanbury — had  been  pulled  down,  and  the  large 
Stores  had  risen  on  their  site. 

And  then  one  day — which  happened  to  be  a  day 
when  Mrs.  Otway  and  her  daughter  were  away  on  a 
visit — Manfred  Hegner  himself  walked  along  into  the 
Close,  and  so  to  the  Trellis  House,  in  order  to  make 
Anna  a  proposal.  It  was  a  simple  thing  that  he  asked 
Anna  to  do — namely  that  she  should  persuade  her 
mistress  to  remove  her  custom  from  the  long-estab- 
lished tradesmen  where  she  had  always  dealt,  and 
transfer  it  entirely  to  his  Stores.  His  things,  so  he 
said,  were  better  as  well  as  cheaper  than  those  sold  by 
the  smaller  people,  also  he  would  be  pleased  to  pay 
Anna  a  handsome  commission  on  every  bill  paid  by 
her  mistress. 

Anna  had  willingly  fallen  in  with  this  plan.  It  had 
taken  some  time  and  some  trouble,  but  in  the  end 
Mrs.  Otway  found  it  very  convenient  to  get  every- 
thing at  the  same  place.  For  a  while  all  had  gone 
well  for  Manfred  Hegner — well  for  him  and  well  for 
Anna.  At  the  end  of  a  year,  however,  he  had  arbi- 
trarily halved  Anna's  commission,  and  that  she  felt 
to  be  (as  indeed  it  was)  most  unfair,  and  not  in  the 
bond.  She  had  no  longer  the  power  to  retaliate,  for 
her  mistress  had  fallen  into  the  way  of  going  into  the 
Stores  herself.  Mrs.  Otway  enjoyed  rubbing  up  her 
German  with  Mr.  Hegner,  and  the  really  intelligent 
zeal  with  which  he  always  treated  her,  and  her  com- 
paratively small  orders,  was  very  pleasant.  Twice 


Good  Old  Anna 


he  had  taken  great  trouble  to  procure  for  her  a  local 
Weimar  delicacy  which  she  remembered  enjoying  as 
a  girl. 

But  when  Anna,  following  her  mistress's  example, 
walked  along  to  the  Stores  to  enjoy  a  little  chat  in  her 
native  language,  Mr.  Hegner  would  be  short  with  her, 
very  short  indeed!  In  fact  it  was  now  a  long  time 
since  the  old  woman  had  cared  to  set  foot  there.  For 
another  thing  she  did  not  like  Mrs.  Hegner,  the  pretty 
English  girl  Manfred  Hegner  had  married  five  years 
before;  she  thought  her  a  very  frivolous,  silly  little 
woman,  not  at  all  what  the  wife  of  a  big  commercial 
man  should  be.  Anna's  Louisa  would  have  been  a 
perfect  helpmate  for  Manfred  Hegner,  and  there  had 
been  a  time,  a  certain  three  months,  when  Anna  had 
thought  the  already  prosperous  widower  was  con- 
sidering Louisa.  His  marriage  to  pretty  Polly  Brown 
had  been  a  disappointment. 

But  now  this  politely-worded  card  of  invitation 
certainly  made  a  difference.  Old  Anna,  who  was  not 
lacking  in  a  certain  simple  shrewdness,  had  not  ex- 
pected Manfred  Hegner  to  show  any  kindness  to  his 
ex-compatriots.  She  was  touched  to  find  him  a  better 
man  than  she  expected.  Most  certainly  would  she 
attend  this  meeting! 

As  soon  as  her  mistress  had  gone  out  to  lunch, 
Anna  telephoned  to  Mr.  Frohling  and  explained  why 
she  could  not  come  to  him  that  evening. 

"We  too  asked  to  Hegner's  have  been.  As  you 
are  going,  we  your  example  will  follow,"  shouted  the 
barber. 


CHAPTER  V 

ROSE  OTWAY  sat  in  the  garden  of  the  Trellis 
House,  under  the  wide-branched  cedar  of  Leba- 
non which  was,  to  the  thinking  of  most  people  in  the 
Qose,  that  garden's  only  beauty.  For  it  was  just  a 
wide  lawn,  surrounded  on  three  sides  by  a  very  high 
old  brick  wall,  under  which  ran  an  herbaceous  border 
to  which  Rose  devoted  some  thought  and  a  good  deal 
of  time. 

The  great  cedar  rose  majestically  far  above  its 
surroundings;  and  when  you  stood  at  one  of  the 
windows  of  the  Trellis  House,  and  saw  how  wide  the 
branches  of  the  tree  spread,  ycu  realised  that  the 
garden  was  a  good  deal  bigger  than  it  appeared  at 
first  sight. 

Rose  sat  near  a  low  wicker  table  on  which  in  an 
hour  or  so  Anna  would  come  out  and  place  the  tea- 
tray.  Spread  out  across  the  girl's  knee  was  a  square 
of  canvas,  a  section  of  a  bed-spread,  on  which  was 
traced  an  intricate  and  beautiful  Jacobean  design. 
Rose  had  already  been  working  at  it  for  six  months, 
and  she  hoped  to  have  finished  it  by  the  I4th  of 
December,  her  mother's  birthday.  She  enjoyed  doing 
this  beautiful  work,  of  which  the  pattern  had  been  lent 
to  her  by  a  country  neighbour  who  collected  such 
things. 

How  surprised  Rose  would  have  been  on  this  early 
August  afternoon  could  she  have  foreseen  that  this 
cherished  piece  of  work,  on  which  she  had  already 

49 


50  Good  Old  Anna 

lavished  so  many  hours  of  close  and  pleasant  toil, 
would  soon  be  put  away  for  an  indefinite  stretch 
of  time;  and  that  knitting,  which  she  had  always 
disliked  doing,  would  take  its  place! 

But  no  such  thought,  no  such  vision  of  the  future, 
came  into  her  mind  as  she  bent  her  pretty  head  over 
her  work. 

She  felt  rather  excited,  a  thought  more  restless 
than  usual.  England  at  war,  and  with  Germany! 
Dear  old  Anna's  Fatherland — the  great  country  to 
which  Rose  had  always  been  taught  by  her  mother  to 
look  with  peculiar  affection,  as  well  as  respect  and 
admiration. 

Rose  and  Mrs.  Otway  had  hoped  to  go  to  Germany 
this  very  autumn.  They  had  saved  up  their  pennies 
— as  Mrs.  Otway  would  have  put  it — for  a  consider- 
able time,  in  order  that  they  might  enjoy  in  comfort, 
and  even  in  luxury,  what  promised  to  be  a  delightful 
tour.  Rose  could  hardly  realise  even  yet  that  their 
journey,  so  carefully  planned  out,  so  often  discussed, 
would  now  have  to  be  postponed.  They  were  first 
to  have  gone  to  Weimar,  where  Mrs.  Otway  had 
spent  such  a  happy  year  in  her  girlhood,  and  then  to 
Munich,  to  Dresden,  to  Nuremberg — to  all  those  dear 
old  towns  with  whose  names  Rose  had  always  been 
familiar.  It  seemed  such  a  pity  that  now  they  would 
have  to  wait  till  after  the  war  to  go  to  Germany. 

After  the  war?  Fortunately  the  people  she  had 
seen  that  day — and  there  had  been  a  good  deal  of 
coming  and  going  in  the  Close — all  seemed  to  think 
that  the  war  would  be  over  very  soon,  and  this  pleas- 
ant view  had  been  confirmed  in  a  rather  odd  way. 

Rose's  cousin,  James  Hayley,  had  rung  her  up  on 


Good  Old  Anna 


the  telephone  from  London.  She  had  been  very  much 
surprised,  for  a  telephone  message  from  London  to 
Witanbury  costs  one-and-threepence,  and  James  was 
careful  about  such  things.  When  he  did  telephone, 
which  was  very  seldom,  he  always  waited  to  do  so 
till  the  evening,  when  the  fee  was  halved.  But  to-day 
James  had  rung  up  just  before  luncheon,  and  she  had 
heard  his  voice  almost  as  though  he  were  standing 
by  her  side. 

"Who's  there?  Oh,  it's  you,  is  it,  Rose?  I  just 
wanted  to  say  that  I  shall  probably  be  down  Saturday 
night.  I  shan't  be  able  to  be  away  more  than  one 
night,  worse  luck.  I  suppose  you've  heard  what's 
happened  ?" 

And  then,  as  she  had  laughed  —  she  had  really  not 
been  able  to  help  it  (how  very  odd  James  was!  He 
evidently  thought  Witanbury  quite  out  of  the  world), 
he  had  gone  on,  "It's  a  great  bore,  for  it  upsets 
everything  horribly.  The  one  good  point  about  it  is 
that  it  won't  last  long." 

"How  long?"  she  had  called  out. 

And  he  had  answered  rather  quickly,  "You  needn't 
speak  so  loud.  I  hear  you  perfectly.  How  long? 
Oh,  I  think  it'll  be  over  by  October  —  may  be  a  little 
before,  but  I  should  say  October." 

"Mother  thinks  there'll  be  a  sort  of  Trafalgar!" 

And  then  he  had  answered,  speaking  a  little  im- 
patiently, for  he  was  very  overworked  just  then, 
"Nothing  of  the  sort!  The  people  who  will  win  this 
war,  and  will  win  it  quickly,  are  the  Russians.  We 
have  information  that  they  will  mobilise  quickly  —  • 
much  more  quickly  than  most  people  think.  You  see, 
my  dear  Rose,"  —  he  was  generally  rather  old-fash- 


52  Good  Old  Anna 

ioned  in  his  phraseology — "the  Russians  are  like  a 
steam  roller";  she  always  remembered  that  she  had 
heard  that  phrase  from  him  first.  "We  have  reason 
to  believe  that  they  can  put  ten  million  men  into  their 
fighting  line  every  year  tor  fifty  years!" 

Rose,  in  answer,  said  the  first  silly  thing  she  had 
said  that  day:  "Oh,  I  do  hope  the  war  won't  last 
as  long  as  that!" 

And  then  she  had  heard,  uttered  in  a  strange  voice, 
the  words,  "Another  three  minutes,  sir?"  and  the 
hasty  answer  at  the  other  end,  "No,  certainly  not! 
I've  quite  done."  And  she  had  hung  up  the  receiver 
with  a  smile. 

And  yet  Rose,  if  well  aware  of  his  little  foibles, 
liked  her  cousin  well  enough  to  be  generally  glad  of 
his  company.  During  the  last  three  months  he  had 
spent  almost  every  week-end  at  Witanbury.  And 
though  it  was  true,  as  her  mother  often  observed,  that 
James  was  both  narrow-minded  and  self-opinionated, 
yet  even  so  he  brought  with  him  a  breath  of  larger 
air,  and  he  often  told  the  ladies  at  the  Trellis  House 
interesting  things. 

While  Rose  Otway  sat  musing  over  her  beautiful 
work  in  the  garden,  good  old  Anna  came  and  went 
in  her  kitchen.  She  too  still  felt  restless  and  anxious, 
she  too  wondered  how  long  this  unexpected  war  would 
last.  But  whereas  Rose  couldn't  have  told  why  she 
was  restless  and  anxious,  her  one-time  nurse  knew 
quite  well  what  ailed  herself  this  afternoon. 

Anna  had  a  very  good  reason  for  feeling  worried 
and  depressed,  but  it  was  one  she  preferred  to  keep 
to  herself.  For  the  last  two  days  she  had  been  ex- 


Good  Old  Anna  53 

pecting  some  money  from  Germany,  and  since  this 
morning  she  had  been  wondering,  with  keen  anxiety, 
whether  that  money  would  be  stopped  in  the  post. 

What  made  this  possibility  very  real  to  her  was  the 
fact  that  an  uncle  of  Anna's,  just  forty-four  years  ago, 
that  is,  in  the  August  of  1870,  had  been  ruined  owing 
to  the  very  simple  fact  that  a  sum  of  money  owing 
him  from  France  had  not  been  able  to  get  through! 
It  was  true  that  she,  Anna,  would  not  be  ruined  if 
the  sum  due  to  her,  which  in  English  money  came  to 
fifty  shillings  exactly,  were  not  to  arrive.  Still,  it 
would  be  very  disagreeable,  and  the  more  disagree- 
able because  she  had  foolishly  given  her  son-in-law 
five  pounds  a  month  ago.  She  knew  it  would  have  to 
be  a  gift,  though  he  had  pretended  at  the  time  that 
it  was  only  a  loan. 

Anna  wondered  how  she  could  find  out  whether 
money  orders  were  still  likely  to  come  through  from 
Germany.  She  did  not  like  to  ask  at  the  Post  Office, 
for  her  Berlin  nephew,  who  transmitted  the  money  to 
her  half-yearly,  always  had  the  order  made  out  to 
some  neighbouring  town  or  village,  not  to  Witanbury. 
In  vain  Anna  had  pointed  out  that  this  was  quite 
unnecessary,  and  indeed  very  inconvenient;  and  that 
when  she  had  said  she  did  not  wish  her  mistress  to 
know,  she  had  not  meant  that.  In  spite  of  her  pro- 
tests Willi  had  persisted  in  so  sending  it. 

Suddenly  her  face  brightened.  How  easy  it  would 
be  to  find  out  all  that  sort  of  thing  at  the  meeting 
to-night!  Such  a  man  as  Manfred  Hegner  would  be 
sure  to  know. 

There  came  a  ring  at  the  front  door  of  the  Trellis 
House,  and  Anna  got  up  reluctantly  from  her  easy 


54  Good  Old  Anna 

chair  and  laid  down  her  crochet.  She  was  beginning 
to  feel  old,  so  she  often  told  herself  regretfully — 
older  than  the  Englishwomen  of  her  own  age  seemed 
to  be.  But  none  of  them  had  worked  as  hard  as  she 
had  always  worked.  Englishwomen,  especially  Eng- 
lish servants,  were  lazy  good-for-nothings! 

Poor  old  Anna;  she  did  not  feel  happy  or  placid 
to-day,  and  she  hated  the  thought  of  opening  the 
door  to  some  one  who,  maybe,  would  condole  with 
her  on  to-day's  news.  All  Mrs.  Otway's  friends  knew 
Anna,  and  treated  her  as  a  highly  respected  institu- 
tion. Those  who  knew  a  little  German  were  fond  of 
trying  it  on  her. 

It  was  rather  curious,  considering  how  long  Anna 
had  been  in  England,  that  she  still  kept  certain  little 
habits  acquired  in  the  far-off  days  when  she  had  been 
the  young  cook  of  a  Herr  Privy  Councillor.  Thus 
never  did  she  open  the  front  door  with  a  cheerful, 
pleasant  manner.  Also,  unless  they  were  very  inti- 
mately known  to  her  and  to  her  mistress,  she  always 
kept  visitors  waiting  in  the  hall.  She  would  forget, 
that  is,  to  show  them  straight  into  the  pretty  sitting- 
room  which  lay  just  opposite  her  kitchen.  She  often 
found  herself  regretting  that  the  heavy  old  mahogany 
door  of  the  Trellis  House  lacked  the  tiny  aperture 
which  in  Berlin  is  so  well  named  a  "stare-hole,"  and 
which  enables  the  person  inside  the  front  door  to  com- 
mand, as  it  were,  the  position  outside. 

But  to-day,  when  she  saw  who  it  was  who  stood 
on  the  threshold,  her  face  cleared  a  little,  for  she  was 
well  acquainted  with  the  tall  young  man  who  was 
looking  at  her  with  so  pleasant  a  smile.  His  name 
was  Jervis  Blake,  and  he  came  very  often  to  the 


Good  Old  Anna 


Trellis  House.  For  two  years  he  had  been  at 
"Robey's,"  the  Army  coaching  establishment  which 
was,  in  a  minor  degree,  one  of  the  glories  of  Witan- 
bury,  and  which  consisted  of  a  group  of  beautiful 
old  Georgian  houses  spreading  across  the  whole  of 
one  of  the  wide  corners  of  the  Close. 

Some  of  the  inhabitants  of  the  Close  resented  the 
fact  of  "Robey's."  But  Mr.  Robey  was  the  son  of 
a  former  Bishop  of  Witanbury,  the  Bishop  who  had 
followed  Miss  Forsyth's  father. 

Bishop  Robey  had  had  twin  sons,  who,  unlike  most 
twins,  were  very  different.  The  elder,  whom  some  of 
the  oldest  inhabitants  remembered  as  an  ugly,  eccentric 
little  boy,  with  a  taste  for  cutting  up  dead  animals, 
had  insisted  on  becoming  a  surgeon.  To  the  surprise 
of  his  father's  old  friends,  he  had  made  a  considerable 
reputation,  which  had  been,  so  to  speak,  officially 
certified  with  a  knighthood.  The  professional  life 
of  a  great  surgeon  is  limited,  and  Sir  Jacques  Robey, 
though  not  much  over  fifty  and  still  a  bachelor,  had 
now  retired. 

The  younger  twin,  Orlando,  was  the  Army  coach. 
He  had  been,  even  as  a  little  boy,  a  great  contrast  to 
his  brother,  being  both  good-looking  and  anything 
but  eccentric.  The  brothers  were  only  alike  in  the 
success  they  had  achieved  in  their  several  professions, 
but  they  had  for  one  another  in  full  measure  that 
curiously  understanding  sympathy  and  affection  which 
seem  to  be  the  special  privilege  of  twins. 

Mr.  Robey  was  popular  and  respected,  and  those 
dwellers  in  the  Close  who  had  daughters  were  pleased 
with  the  life  and  animation  which  the  presence  of  so 
many  young  men  gave  to  the  place.  The  more 


56  Good  Old  Anna 

thoughtful  were  also  glad  to  think  that  the  shadow 
of  their  beloved  cathedral  rested  benignantly  over  the 
temporary  home  of  those  future  officers  and  admin- 
istrators of  the  Empire.  And  of  all  those  who  had 
been  coached  at  "Robey's"  during  the  last  two  years, 
there  was  none  better  liked,  though  there  had  been 
many  more  popular,  than  the  young  man  who  now 
stood  smiling  at  old  Anna. 

During  the  first  three  months  of  his  sojourn  in  the 
Close,  Jervis  Blake  had  counted  very  little,  for  it  had 
naturally  been  supposed  that  he  would  soon  go  off  to 
Sandhurst  or  Woolwich.  Then  he  had  failed  to  pass 
the  Army  Entrance  Examination,  not  once,  as  so 
many  did,  but  again  and  again,  and  the  good  folk 
of  Witanbury,  both  gentle  and  simple,  had  grown 
accustomed  to  see  him  coming  and  going  in  their 
midst. 

Unfortunately  for  Jervis  Blake,  his  father,  though 
a  distinguished  soldier,  was  a  very  peculiar  man,  one 
who  had  owed  nothing  in  his  hard  laborious  youth 
to  influence;  and  he  had  early  determined  that  his 
only  son  should  tread  the  path  he  had  himself  trod. 

And  now  poor  young  Blake  had  reached  the  age 
limit,  and  failed  for  the  last  time.  Every  one  had 
been  sorry,  but  no  one  had  been  surprised  in  Witan- 
bury Close,  when  the  result  of  the  May  Army  Exam, 
had  been  published  in  July. 

One  person,  Mr.  Robey  himself,  had  been  deeply 
concerned.  Indeed,  the  famous  coach  muttered  to 
one  or  two  of  his  old  friends,  "It's  a  pity,  you  know ! 
Although  I  make  my  living  by  it,  I  often  think  there's 
a  good  deal  to  be  said  against  a  system  which  passes 
in — well,  some  boys  whose  names  I  could  give  you, 


Good  Old  Anna  57 


and  which  keeps  out  of  the  Army  a  lad  like  Jervis 
Blake!  He'd  make  a  splendid  company  officer — con- 
scientious, honest,  unselfish,  keen  about  his  work,  and 
brave — well,  brave  as  only  a  man " 

And  one  of  those  to  whom  he  said  it,  seeing  him 
hesitate,  had  broken  in,  with  a  slight  smile,  "Brave 
as  only  a  man  totally  lacking  in  imagination  can  be, 
eh,  Robey?" 

"No,  no,  I  won't  have  you  say  that!  Even  an 
idiot  has  enough  imagination  to  be  afraid  of  danger! 
There's  something  fine  about  poor  Jervis." 

They'd  gradually  all  got  to  call  young  Blake  "Jer- 
vis" in  that  household.  Perhaps  Mrs.  Robey  alone 
of  them  all  knew  how  much  they  would  miss  him. 
He  was  such  a  thoroughly  good  fellow,  he  was  so 
useful  to  her  husband  in  keeping  order  among  the 
wilder  spirits,  and  that  without  having  about  him  a 
touch  of  the  prig! 

Rose  looked  up  and  smiled  as  the  tall  young  man 
came  forward  and  shook  hands  with  her,  saying  as 
he  did  so,  "I  hope  I'm  not  too  early?  The  truth  is, 
I've  a  good  many  calls  to  pay  this  afternoon.  I've 
come  to  say  good-bye." 

"I'm  sorry.  I  thought  you  weren't  going  away  till 
Saturday."  Rose  really  did  feel  sorry — in  fact,  she 
was  herself  surprised  at  her  rather  keen  sensation  of 
regret.  She  had  always  liked  Jervis  Blake  very  much 
— liked  him  from  the  first  day  she  had  seen  him.  He 
had  a  certain  claim  on  the  kindness  of  the  ladies  of  the 
Trellis  House,  for  his  mother  had  been  a  girl  friend 
of  Mrs.  Otway's. 

Most  people,  as  Rose  was  well  aware,  found  his 


$8  Good  Old  Anna 

conversation  boring.  But  it  always  interested  her. 
In  fact  Rose  Otway  was  the  one  person  in  Witan- 
bury  who  listened  with  real  pleasure  to  what  Jervis 
Blake  had  to  say.  Oddly  enough,  his  talk  almost 
always  ran  on  military  matters.  Most  soldiers — and 
Rose  knew  a  good  many  officers,  for  Witanbury  is  a 
garrison  town — would  discuss,  before  the  Great  War, 
every  kind  of  topic  except  those  connected  with  what 
they  would  have  described  as  "shop."  But  Jervis 
Blake,  who,  owing  to  his  bad  luck,  seemed  fated  never 
to  be  a  soldier,  thought  and  talked  of  nothing  else. 
It  was  thanks  to  him  that  Rose  knew  so  much  about 
the  great  Napoleonic  campaigns,  and  was  so  well 
"up"  in  the  Indian  Mutiny. 

And  now,  on  this  4th  of  August,  1914,  Jervis  Blake 
sat  down  by  Rose  Otway,  and  began  tracing  imaginary 
patterns  on  the  grass  with  his  stick. 

"I'm  not  going  to  tell  any  one  else,  but  there's 
something  I  want  to  tell  you.''  He  spoke  in  a  rather 
hard,  set  voice,  and  he  did  not  look  up,  as  he  spoke, 
at  the  girl  by  his  side. 

"Yes,"  she  said.  "Yes,  Jervis?  What  is  it?" 
There  was  something  very  kind,  truly  sympathetic, 
in  her  accents. 

"I'm  going  to  enlist." 

Rose  Otway  was  startled — startled  and  sorry. 

"Oh,  no,  you  mustn't  do  that !" 

"I've  always  thought  I  should  like  to  do  it,  if — 
if  I  failed  this  last  time.  But  of  course  I  knew  it  was 
out  of  the  question — because  of  my  father.  But  now 
— everything's  different !  Even  father  will  see  that 
I  have  no  other  course  open  to  me." 

"I — I  don't  understand  what  you  mean,"  she  an- 


Good  Old  Anna  59 

swered,  and  to  her  surprise  there  came  a  queer  lump 
in  her  throat.  "Why  is  everything  different  now?" 

He  looked  round  at  her  with  an  air  of  genuine 
surprise,  and,  yes,  of  indignation,  in  his  steady  grey 
eyes.  And  under  that  surprised  and  indignant  look, 
so  unlike  anything  there  had  ever  been  before  from 
him  to  her,  the  colour  flushed  all  over  her  face. 

"You  mean,"  she  faltered,  "you  mean  because — 
because  England  is  at  war?" 

He  nodded. 

''But  I  thought — of  course  I  don't  know  anything 
about  it,  Jervis,  and  I  daresay  you'll  think  me  very 
ignorant — but  from  what  the  Dean  said  this  morning 
I  thought  that  only  our  fleet  is  to  fight  the  Germans." 

"The  Dean  is  an  old "  and  then  they  both 

laughed.  Jervis  Blake  went  on:  "If  we  don't  go 
to  the  help  of  the  French  and  the  Belgians,  then 
England's  disgraced.  But  of  course  we're  going  to 
fight!" 

Rose  Otway  was  thinking — thinking  hard.  She 
knew  a  good  deal  about  Jervis,  and  his  relations  with 
the  father  he  both  loved  and  feared. 

"Look  here,"  she  said  earnestly.  "We've  always 
been  friends,  you  and  I,  haven't  we,  Jervis?" 

And  again  he  simply  nodded  in  answer  to  the 
question. 

"Well,  I  want  you  to  promise  me  something!" 

"I  can't  promise  you  I  won't  enlist." 

"I  don't  want  you  to  promise  me  that.  I  only 
want  you  to  promise  me  to  wait  just  a  few  days — say 
a  week.  Of  course  I  don't  know  anything  about  how 
one  becomes  a  soldier,  but  you'd  be  rather  sold, 
wouldn't  you,  if  you  enlisted  and  then  if  your  regi- 


60  Good  Old  Anna 

ment  took  no  part  in  the  fighting — if  there's  really 
going  to  be  fighting?" 

Rose  Otway  stopped  short.  She  felt  a  most  curious 
sensation  of  fatigue;  it  was  as  though  she  had  been 
speaking  an  hour  instead  of  a  few  moments.  But 
she  had  put  her  whole  heart,  her  whole  soul,  into  those 
few  simple  words. 

There  was  a  long,  long  pause,  and  her  eyes  filled 
with  tears.  Those  who  knew  her  would  have  told 
you  that  Rose  Otway  was  quite  singularly  self- 
possessed  and  unemotional.  In  fact  she  could  not 
remember  when  she  had  cried  last,  it  was  so  long  ago. 
But  now  there  came  over  her  a  childish,  irresistible 
desire  to  have  her  way — to  save  poor,  poor  Jervis  from 
himself.  And  suddenly  the  face  of  the  young  man 
looking  at  her  became  transfigured. 

"Rose,"  he  cried — "Rose,  do  you  really  care,  a 
little,  what  happens  to  me?  Oh,  if  you  only  knew 
what  a  difference  that  would  make!" 

And  then  she  pulled  herself  together.  Jervis 
mustn't  become  what  she  in  her  own  mind  called 
"silly."  Young  men,  ay,  and  older  men  too,  had  a 
way  of  becoming  "silly"  about  Rose  Otway.  And 
up  to  now  she  had  disliked  it  very  much.  But  this 
afternoon  she  was  touched  rather  than  displeased. 

"I  care  very  much,"  she  said  quietly.  She  knew 
the  battle  was  won,  and  it  was  very  collectedly  that 
she  added  the  words,  "Now,  I  have  your  promise, 
Jervis?  You're  not  to  do  anything  foolish — 
Then  she  saw  she  had  made  a  mistake.  "No,  no!" 
she  cried  hastily;  "I  don't  mean  that — I  don't  mean 
that  a  man  who  becomes  a  soldier  in  time  of  war  is 
doing  anything  foolish!  But  I  do  think  that  you 


Good  Old  Anna  61 


ought  to  wait  just  a  few  days.  Everything  is  differ- 
ent now."  For  the  first  time  she  felt  that  everything 
was  indeed  different  in  England — in  this  new  strange 
England  which  was  at  war.  It  was  odd  that  Jervis 
Blake  should  have  brought  that  knowledge  home  to 
her. 

"Very  well,"  he  said  slowly.  "I'll  wait.  I  can't 
wait  a  whole  week,  but  I'll  wait  till  after  Sunday." 

"The  Robeys  are  going  to  the  seaside  on  Monday, 
aren't  they?"  She  was  speaking  now  quite  compos- 
edly, quite  like  herself. 

"Yes,  and  they  kindly  asked  me  to  stay  on  till 
then." 

He  got  up.  "Well,"  he  said,  looking  down  at  her — 
and  she  couldn't  help  telling  herself  what  a  big,  manly 
fellow  he  looked,  and  what  a  fine  soldier  he  would 
make — "well,  Rose,  so  it  isn't  good-bye,  after  all?" 

"No,  I'm  glad  to  say  it  isn't."  She  gave  him  a 
frank,  kindly  smile.  "Surely  you'll  stay  and  have 
some  tea?" 

"No,  thank  you.  Jack  Robey  is  feeling  a  little 
above  himself  to-day.  You  see  it's  the  fourth  day 
of  the  holidays.  I  think  I'll  just  go  straight  back, 
and  take  him  out  for  a  walk.  I  rather  want  to  think 
over  things." 

As  he  made  his  way  across  the  lawn  and  through 
the  house,  feeling  somehow  that  the  whole  world  had 
changed  for  the  better,  though  he  could  not  have  told 
you  exactly  why,  Jervis  Blake  met  Mrs.  Otway. 

"Won't  you  stay  and  have  some  tea?"  she  asked, 
but  she  said  it  in  a  very  different  voice  from  that 
Rose  had  used — Rose  had  meant  what  she  said. 

"Thanks  very  much,  but  I've  got  to  get  back.     I 


62  Good  Old  Anna 

promised  Mrs.  Robey  I'd  be  in  to  tea;  the  boys  are 
back  from  school,  you  know." 

"Oh,  yes,  of  course!  I  suppose  they  are.  Well, 
you  must  come  in  some  other  day  before  you  leave 
Witanbury." 

She  hurried  through  into  the  garden. 

"I  hope  Jervis  Blake  hasn't  been  here  very  long, 
darling,"  she  said  fondly.  "Of  course  I  know  he's 
your  friend,  and  that  you've  always  liked  him.  But 
I'm  afraid  he  would  rather  jar  on  one  to-day.  He's 
always  so  disliked  the  Germans!  Poor  fellow,  how 
he  must  feel  out  of  it,  now  that  the  war  he's  always 
been  talking  about  has  actually  come!" 

"Well,  mother,  Jervis  was  right  after  all.  The 
Germans  were  preparing  for  war." 

But  Mrs.  Otway  went  on  as  if  she  had  not  heard 
the  interruption.  It  was  a  way  she  had,  and  some- 
times both  Rose  and  old  Anna  found  it  rather  trying. 
"This  morning  Miss  Forsyth  was  saying  she  thought 
young  Blake  would  enlist — that  she'd  enlist  if  she  were 
in  his  place!  It's  odd  what  nonsense  she  sometimes 
talks." 

Rose  remained  silent  and  her  mother  continued. 
"I've  so  many  things  to  tell  you  I  hardly  know  where 
to  begin.  It  was  a  very  interesting  committee,  more 
lively  than  usual.  There  seemed  a  notion  among 
some  of  the  people  there  that  there  will  be  war  work 
of  some  kind  for  us  to  do.  Lady  Bethune  thought 
so — though  I  can't  see  how  the  war  can  affect  any  of 
us,  here,  in  Witanbury.  But  just  as  we  were  breaking 
up,  Lady  Bethune  told  us  some  interesting  things. 
There  are,  she  says,  two  parties  in  the  Government — • 
one  party  wants  us  to  send  out  troops  to  help  Belgium, 


Good  Old  Anna  63 

the  other  party  thinks  we  ought  to  be  content  with 
letting  the  fleet  help  the  French.  I  must  say  I  agree 
with  the  Blue  Water  school." 

"I  don't,"  said  Rose  rather  decidedly.  "If  we 
really  owe  so  much  to  Belgium  that  we  have  gone  to 
war  for  her  sake,  then  it  seems  to  me  we  ought  to  send 
soldiers  to  help  her." 

But  then  we  have  such  a  small  army,"  objected- 
Mrs.  Otway. 

"It  may  grow  bigger,"  observed  her  daughter 
quietly,  "especially  if  people  like  Jervis  Blake  think 
of  enlisting." 

"But  it  wasn't  Jervis  Blake,  darling  child — it  was 
Miss  Forsyth  who  said  that  to  me." 

"So  it  was!  How  stupid  I  am!"  Rose  turned  a 
little  pink.  She  did  not  wish  to  deceive  her  mother. 
But  Mrs.  Otway  was  so  confiding,  so  sure  that  every 
one  was  as  honourable  as  herself,  that  she  could  not 
always  be  trusted  to  keep  secrets. 


CHAPTER  VI 

.  and  Mrs.  Hegner  stood  together  in  their 
brilliantly  lighted  but  now  empty  front  shop. 
In  a  few  minutes  their  guests  would  begin  to  ar- 
rive. Mrs.  Hegner  looked  tired,  and  rather  cross, 
for  the  shop  had  not  been  transformed  into  its  pres- 
ent state  without  a  good  deal  of  hard  work  on  the 
part  of  all  of  them,  her  husband,  their  German  as- 
sistants, and  herself — their  English  shopman  had 
been  told  that  to-night  his  services  would  not  be 
required.  But  Mrs.  Hegner,  though  her  pretty  face 
was  tired  and  peevish-looking,  yet  looked  far  pleas- 
anter  than  she  had  done  half  an  hour  ago,  for  her 
husband  had  just  presented  her  with  a  long  gold 
chain. 

In  a  very,  very  quiet  way,  quite  under  the  rose,  so 
to  speak,  Mr.  Hegner  sometimes  went  in  for  small 
money-lending  transactions.  He  would  give  loans  on 
jewellery,  and  even  on  "curios"  and  good  furniture; 
always,  however,  in  connection  with  an  account  which 
had,  maybe,  run  a  little  too  long — never  as  a  separate 
transaction.  The  old-fashioned  chain  of  i8-carat  gold, 
which  he  had  just  hung  with  a  joking  word  round 
his  pretty  wife's  slender  neck,  had  been  the  outcome 
of  one  of  these  minor  activities. 

It  was  now  a  quarter  to  nine;  and  suddenly  there 
came  the  sound  of  loud,  rather  impatient  knocking 
on  the  locked  and  barred  front  door  of  the  shop. 
'A  frown  gathered  over  Mr.  Hegner's  face;  it  trans- 

64 


Good  Old  Anna  65 

formed  his  good-looking,  generally  genial,  counten- 
ance into  something  which  was,  for  the  moment,  very 
disagreeable. 

"What  can  that  be?"  he  said  to  his  wife.  "Did 
you  not  put  plainly  on  every  card  'Entrance  by 
Market  Row/  Polly?" 

"Yes,"  she  said,  a  little  frightened  by  his  look.  "It 
was  most  carefully  put  in  every  case,  Manfred." 

The  knocking  had  stopped  now,  as  if  the  person 
outside  expected  the  door  to  open.  Husband  and 
wife  went  forward. 

"Who  can  it  be?"  said  Mrs.  Hegner  uneasily. 

And  then  her  question  was  answered. 

The  voice  was  clear  and  silvery.  "It's  Miss  Ha- 
worth!  Can  I  come  in  and  speak  to  you  a  moment, 
Mr.  Hegner,  or  has  the  meeting  already  begun?" 

"Why,  it's  the  young  lady  from  the  Deanery!" 
exclaimed  Manfred  Hegner  in  a  relieved  voice;  and 
both  he  and  his  wife  began  hastily  unlocking  and 
unbarring  the  great  plate-glass  doors. 

The  unbidden,  unexpected  visitor  stepped  forward- 
into  the  shop,  and  Mrs.  Hegner  eagerly  noted  the 
cut  and  shape  of  the  prettily  draped  pale  blue  silk 
evening  coat,  and  tried  to  gain  some  notion  of  the 
evening  gown  beneath. 

"I'm  so  glad  to  be  in  time — I  mean  before  your 
meeting  has  begun.  How  very  nice  it  all  looks!" 
The  speaker  cast  an  approving  glance  on  the  rout 
chairs,  on  the  table  at  the  top  of  the  room,  on  the 
counter  where  steamed,  even  now,  the  fragrant  cof- 
fee. "The  Dean  has  asked  me  to  bring  a  message — 
of  course  quite  an  informal  message,  Mr.  Hegner. 


66  Good  Old  Anna 

He  wants  you  to  tell  everybody  that  he  is  quite  at 
their  service  if  they  want  anything  done." 

"That  is  very,  very  good  of  Mr.  Dean.  Polly, 
d'you  hear  that?  Is  not  the  Reverend  gentleman 
truly  good?" 

"Yes,  indeed,"  said  Mrs.  Hegner,  a  trifle  mechani- 
cally. 

She  felt  a  touch  of  sharp  envy  as  she  looked  at 
the  beautiful  girl  standing  there.  Though  Edith 
Haworth  knew  very  little  of  Mrs.  Hegner,  except 
that  Mrs.  Hegner's  sister  was  her  maid,  Mrs.  Heg- 
ner knew  a  great  deal  about  Miss  Haworth.  How 
she  had  gone  up  to  London  just  for  one  month  of 
the  season,  and  how  during  that  one  month  she  had 
become  engaged  to  a  rich  young  gentleman,  a  baro- 
net. He  was  in  the  Army,  too,  but  he  couldn't  be 
much  of  a  soldier,  for  he  seemed  to  be  a  great  deal 
in  Witanbury — at  least  he  had  been  here  a  great 
deal  during  the  last  three  weeks.  The  two  often 
walked  about  the  town  together;  once  they  had  stood 
for  quite  a  long  time  just  opposite  the  open  doors 
of  the  Stores,  and  Mrs.  Hegner  on  that  occasion  had 
looked  at  the  handsome  couple  with  sympathetic  in- 
terest and  excitement. 

But  now,  to-night,  nothing  but  sharp  envy  filled 
her  soul.  It  was  her  fate,  poor,  pretty  Polly's  fate, 
to  sit  behind  that  horrid  glass  partition  over  there, 
taking  money,  paying  out  endless  small  change,  com- 
pelled always  to  look  pleasant,  or  Manfred,  if  he 
caught  her  looking  anything  else,  even  when  giving 
a  farthing  change  out  of  a  penny,  would  soon  know 
the  reason  why!  The  young  lady  who  stood  smiling 
just  within  the  door  was  not  half  as  "fetching"  as 


Good  Old  Anna  67 

she,  Polly,  had  been  in  her  maiden  days — and  yet  she 
was  going  to  have  everything  the  heart  of  woman 
could  desire,  a  rich,  handsome,  young  husband,  and 
plenty  of  money! 

As  her  eyes  strayed  out  to  the  moonlit  space  out- 
side where  stood  waiting,  under  the  quaint  little  leafy 
mall  which  gives  the  Market  Square  of  Witanbury 
such  a  foreign  look,  a  gentleman  in  evening  dress, 
Mrs.  Hegner  repeated  mechanically,  "Very  kind,  I'm 
sure,  miss.  They'll  appreciate  it — that  they  will." 

"Well,  that  was  all  I  came  to  say — only  that  my 
father  will  be  very  glad  indeed  to  do  anything  he  can. 

Oh,  I  did  forget  one  more  thing "  She  lowered 

her  voice  a  little.  "The  Dean  thinks  it  probable,  Mr. 
Hegner,  that  after  to-day  no  German  of  military  age 
will  be  allowed  to  leave  England.  You  ought  to  tell 
everybody  that  this  evening,  otherwise  some  of  them, 
without  knowing  it,  might  get  into  trouble." 

And  then  Mrs.  Hegner,  perhaps  because  she  had 
become  nervously  aware  that  her  husband  had  looked 
at  her  rather  crossly  a  moment  ago,  blurted  out, 
"There's  no  fear  of  that,  miss.  We  sent  off  a  lot 
this  morning  to  Harwich.  I  expect  they'll  have 

been  able  to  get  a  boat  there  all  right "  She 

stopped  suddenly,  for  her  husband  had  just  made 
a  terrible  face  at  her — a  face  full  of  indignation  and 
wrath. 

But  Miss  Haworth  did  not  seem  to  have  noticed 
anything. 

"Oh,  well,"  she  said,  "perhaps  it  was  a  mistake 
to  do  that,  but  I  don't  suppose  it  matters  much,  one 
way  or  the  other.  I  must  go  now.  The  meeting  is 
due  to  begin,  isn't  it?  And — and  Sir  Hugh  is  leav- 


68  Good  Old  Anna 

ing  to-night.  He  expects  to  find  his  marching  orders 
when  he  gets  back  to  town."  A  little  colour  came 
into  her  charming  face;  she  sighed,  but  not  very 
heavily.  "War  is  an  awful  thing!"  she  said;  "but 
every  soldier,  of  course,  wants  to  see  something  of 
the  fighting.  I  expect  the  feeling  is  just  as  strong 
in  France  and  Germany  as  it  is  here." 

She  shook  hands  warmly  with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Heg- 
ner,  then  she  turned  and  tripped  out  into  the  dimly 
lighted  and  solitary  Market  Square.  They  watched 
her  cross  the  road  and  take  her  lover's  arm. 

"Fool!"  said  Mr.  Hegner  harshly.  "Pretty,  silly 
fool!"  He  mimicked  what  he  thought  to  be  her 
mincing  accents.  "Wants  to  see  something  of  war, 
does  he?  I  can  tell  him  he  will  be  satisfied  before 
he  has  done !"  There  was  a  scowl  on  his  face.  "And 
you" — he  turned  on  his  wife  furiously — "what  busi- 
ness had  you  to  say  that  about  those  young  Ger- 
man men?  I  was  waiting — yes,  with  curiosity — to 
hear  what  else  you  were  going  to  tell  her — whether 
you  would  tell  her  that  I  had  paid  their  fares !" 

"Oh,  no,  Manfred.  You  know  I  would  never  have 
done  that  after  what  you  said  to  me  yesterday." 

"Take  it  from  me  now,  once  for  all,"  he  said 
fiercely,  "that  you  say  nothing — nothing,  mark  you — 
about  this  cursed,  blasted  war — this  war  which,  if  we 
are  not  very  careful,  is  going  to  make  us  poor,  to 
bring  us  to  the  gutter,  to  the  workhouse,  you  and  I !" 

And  then  Hegner's  brow  cleared  as  if  by  enchant- 
ment, for  the  first  of  their  visitors  were  coming 
through  from  the  back  of  the  shop. 

It  was  the  manager  of  a  big  boot  factory  and  his 
wife.  They  were  both  German-born,  and  the  man 


Good  Old  Anna  69 

had  obtained  his  present  excellent  position  owing  to 
the  good  offices  of  Mr.  Hegner.  Taking  his  friend's 
wise  advice,  he  had  become  naturalised  a  year  ago. 
But  a  nephew,  who  had  joined  him  in  business,  had 
not  followed  his  example,  and  he  had  been  one  of 
the  young  men  who  had  been  speeded  off  to  Har- 
wich, through  Mr.  Hegner's  exertions,  early  that 
morning. 

While  Mrs.  Hegner  tried  to  make  herself  pleas- 
ant to  Mrs.  Liebert,  Mr.  Hegner  took  Mr.  Liebert 
aside. 

"I  have  just  learnt,"  he  said,  in  a  quick  whisper, 
"that  the  military  gentlemen  here  are  expecting  march- 
ing orders  to  the  Continent — I  presume  to  Belgium." 

"That  is  bad,"  muttered  the  other. 

But  Mr.  Hegner  smiled.  "No,  no,"  he  said,  "not 
bad!  It  might  have  been  disagreeable  if  they  could 
have  been  got  there  last  week.  But  by  the  time  the 
fifty  thousand,  even  the  hundred  thousand,  English 
soldiers  are  in  Belgium,  there  will  be  a  million  of  our 
fellows  there  to  meet  them." 

"What  are  you  going  to  say  at  this  meeting?" 
asked  the  other  curiously;  he  used  the  English  word, 
though  they  still  spoke  German. 

Mr.  Hegner  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "This  is  not 
going  to  be  a  meeting,"  he  said  laughingly.  "It's 
going  to  be  a  Kaffeeklatch!  Those  people  to  whom 
I  have  to  say  a  word  I  shall  see  by  myself,  in  our 
little  parlour.  I  trust  to  you,  friend  Max,  to  make 
everything  go  well  and  lively.  As  to  measures,  it  is 
far  too  early  to  think  of  any  measures.  So  far  all 
goes  very  well  with  me.  I  have  had  many  tokens  of 
sympathy  and  of  friendship  this  morning.  Just  two 


70  Good  Old  Anna 

or  three,  perhaps,  would  have  liked  to  be  disagree- 
able, but  they  did  not  dare." 

He  hurried  away,  for  his  guests  were  arriving  thick 
and  fast. 

It  was  a  strange  and,  or  so  Mrs.  Otway  would  have 
thought,  a  rather  pathetic  little  company  of  men  and 
women,  who  gathered  together  at  Manfred  Hegner's 
Stores  at  nine  o'clock  on  that  fine  August  night.  The 
blinds  had  been  drawn  down,  and  behind  the  blinds 
the  shutters  had  been  put  up. 

As  to  the  people  there,  they  all  looked  prosperous 
and  respectable,  but  each  one  wore  a  slight  air  of 
apprehension  and  discomfort.  Strange  to  say,  not 
one  of  the  Germans  present  really  liked  or  trusted 
their  host,  and  that  was  odd,  for  Manfred  Hegner, 
apart  from  certain  outstanding  exceptions,  had  man- 
aged to  make  himself  quite  popular  among  the  Eng- 
lish inhabitants  of  Witanbury. 

The  men  and  the  women  had  instinctively  parted 
into  two  companies,  but  Mrs.  Hegner  went  to  and 
fro  among  both  sets,  pressing  hospitably  on  all  her 
guests  the  coffee,  the  creamy  milk,  and  the  many 
cakes,  to  say  nothing  of  the  large  sandwiches  she  had 
been  ordered  to  make  that  afternoon. 

She  felt  oppressed  and  rather  bewildered,  for  the 
people  about  her  were  all  talking  German,  and  she 
had  never  taken  the  trouble  to  learn  even  half  a 
dozen  words  of  her  husband's  difficult  nasal  language. 
She  kept  wondering  when  the  meeting  would  begin. 
Time  was  going  on.  They  always  got  up  very  early 
in  the  morning,  and  already  she  was  tired,  very,  very 


Good  Old  Anna  711 

tired  in  fact,  for  it  had  been  a  long  and  rather  an 
exciting  day. 

She  had  never  before  seen  her  husband  quite  so 
pleasant  and  jovial,  and  as  she  moved  about  she  heard 
continually  his  loud,  hearty  laugh.  He  was  cheering 
up  the  people  round  him — so  much  was  clear.  All 
of  them  had  looked  gloomy,  preoccupied,  and  troubled 
when  they  came  in,  but  now  they  seemed  quite  merry 
and  bright. 

There  was  one  exception.  Poor  Mr.  Frohling 
looked  very  miserable.  Mrs.  Hegner  felt  very  sorry 
for  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Frohling.  When  her  husband  had 
heard  of  what  had  befallen  the  unfortunate  barber, 
and  how  he  had  been  ordered  to  pack  up  and  leave 
his  shop  within  a  few  hours,  he  had  said  roughly: 
"Frohling  is  a  fool!  I  told  him  to  take  out  his  cer- 
tificate. He  refused  to  do  it,  so  now  of  course  he  will 
have  to  go.  Witanbury  has  no  use  for  that  man !" 

And  now  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Frohling,  alone  of  the 
company  there,  sat  together  apart,  with  lowering 
brows. 

Mrs.  Hegner  went  up  to  them,  rather  timidly.  "I 
want  to  tell  you  how  sorry  I  am,  Mr.  Frohling,"  she 
said  conciliatingly.  Polly  had  a  kind  heart,  if  a 
pettish  manner.  "What  a  pity  you  didn't  take  out 
your  certificate  when  Manfred  advised  you  to  do  so!" 

Mr.  Frohling  remained  silent.  But  his  wife  said 
wistfully,  "Ach,  yes,  Mrs.  Hegner.  It  is  a  pity  now ; 
but  still,  the  officers  they  have  been  kind  to  us,  really 
very  kind.  One  of  them  even  said  it  would  not  have 
made  much  difference — • — " 

Her  husband  interrupted  her.  "He  nothing,  Jane, 
said  of  the  kind!  That  it  ought  not  any  difference 


72  Good  Old  Anna 

i 
to  have  made  was  what  say  he  did.     I,  who  have 

in  England  lived  since  the  year  1874;  I,  who  Eng- 
land love;  I,  whose  son  will  soon  for  England  be 
fighting!" 

"My  husband  said,"  began  Mrs.  Hegner And 

again  Mr.  Frohling  interrupted  rather  rudely:  "You 
need  not  tell  me  what  your  husband  say,"  he  re- 
marked. "I  know  for  myself  exactly  what  Mr.  Heg- 
ner say.  If  everything  could  be  foreseen  in  this  life 
we  should  all  be  very  wise.  Mr.  Hegner,  he  does 
foresee  more  than  most  people,  and  wise  he  is." 

Mrs.  Frohling  drew  her  hostess  a  little  aside. 
"Don't  mind  him,"  she  whispered.  "He  is  so  un- 
happy. And  yet  we  should  be  thankful,  for  the  gen- 
tlemen officers  are  getting  up  a  little  testimonial  fund 
for  poor  Frohling." 

"I  suppose  you've  saved  a  good  bit,  too?"  said 
Mrs.  Hegner  with  curiosity. 

"Not  much — not  much!  Only  lately  have  we 
turned  the  corner — — "  Mrs.  Frohling  sighed.  Then 
her  face  brightened,  and  Mrs.  Hegner  looking  round 
saw  that  Anna  Bauer,  Mrs.  Otway's  servant,  was 
pushing  her  way  through  the  crowd  towards  them. 

Now  pretty  Polly  disliked  the  old  woman.  Frau 
Bauer  was  not  a  person  of  any  account,  yet  Manfred 
had  ordered  that  she  should  be  treated  this  evening 
with  special  consideration,  and  so  Mrs.  Hegner  walked 
forward  and  stiffly  shook  hands  with  her  latest  guest. 


CHAPTER  VII 

SIT  down,  Frohling,  sit  down !" 
The  old  barber,   rather  to  his  surprise,  had 
been  invited  to  follow  his  host  into  the  Hegners'  pri- 
vate parlour,  a  little  square  room  situated  behind  the 
big  front  shop. 

The  floor  of  the  parlour  was  covered  with  a  large- 
patterned  oilcloth.  There  was  a  round  mahogany 
pedestal  table,  too  large  for  the  room,  and  four  sub- 
stantial cane-backed  armchairs.  Till  to-day  there  had 
always  hung  over  the  piano  a  large  engraving  of 
the  German  Emperor,  and  on  the  opposite  wall  a 
smaller  oleograph  picture  of  Queen  Victoria  with  her 
little  great-grandson,  the  Prince  of  Wales,  at  her 
knee.  The  German  Emperor  had  now  been  taken 
down,  and  there  was  a  patch  of  clean  paper  marking 
where  the  frame  had  hung. 

As  answer  to  Mr.  Hegner's  invitation,  the  older 
man  sat  down  heavily  in  a  chair  near  the  table. 

Both  men  remained  silent  for  a  moment,  and  a 
student  of  Germany,  one  who  really  knew  and  under- 
stood that  amazing  country,  might  well,  had  he  seen 
the  two  sitting  there,  have  regarded  the  one  as  epito- 
mising the  old  Germany,  and  the  other — naturalised 
Englishman  though  he  now  was — epitomising  the 
new.  Manfred  Hegner  was  slim,  active,  and  pros- 
perous-looking; he  appeared  years  younger  than  his 
age.  Ludwig  Frohling  was  stout  and  rather  stumpy; 
he  seemed  older  than  he  really  was,  and  although  he 

73 


74  Good  Old  Anna 

was  a  barber,  his  hair  was  long  and  untidy.  He 
looked  intelligent  and  thoughtful,  but  it  was  the 
intelligence  and  the  thoughtfulness  of  the  student  and 
of  the  dreamer,  not  of  the  man  of  action. 

"Well,  Mr.  Frohling,  the  International  haven't 
done  much  the  last  few  days,  eh?  I'm  afraid  you 
must  have  been  disappointed."  He  of  course  spoke 
in  German. 

"Yes,  I  have  been  disappointed,"  said  the  other 
stoutly,  "very  much  disappointed  indeed!  But  still, 
from  this  great  crime  good  may  come,  even  now. 
It  has  occurred  to  me  that,  owing  to  this  war  made 
by  the  great  rulers,  the  people  in  Russia,  as  well  as 
in  my  beloved  Fatherland,  may  arise  and  cut  their 
bonds." 

A  light  came  into  the  speaker's  eyes,  and  Manfred 
Hegner  looked  at  him  in  mingled  pity  and  contempt. 
It  was  not  his  intention,  however,  to  waste  much  time 
this  evening  listening  to  a  foolish  old  man.  In  fact, 
he  had  hesitated  as  to  whether  he  should  include  the 
Frohlings  in  his  invitations — then  he  had  thought  that 
if  he  omitted  to  do  so  the  fact  might  possibly  come 
to  the  ears  of  the  Dean.  Frohling  and  the  Dean  had 
long  been  pleasantly  acquainted.  Then,  again,  it  was 
just  possible — not  likely,  but  possible — that  he  might 
be  able  to  get  out  of  the  ex-barber  of  the  Witan- 
bury  garrison  some  interesting  and  just  now  valuable 
information. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  now?"  he  asked. 
"Have  you  made  any  plans  yet?" 

"We  are  thinking  of  going  to  London,  and  of 
making  a  fresh  start  there.  We  have  friends  in  Red 
Lion  Square."  Frohling  spoke  as  if  the  words  were 


Good  Old  Anna  75 

being  dragged  out  of  him.  He  longed  to  tell  the 
other  man  to  mind  his  own  business. 

"You  haven't  a  chance  of  being  allowed  to  do 
that!  Why,  already,  on  the  very  first  day,  every 
German  barber  is  suspected."  The  speaker  gave  a 
short,  unpleasant  laugh. 

"I  am  not  suspected.  So!"  exclaimed  Frohling 
heatedly.  "Not  one  single  person  has  spoken  as  if 
•  he  suspected  me  in  this  town!  On  the  contrary, 
England  is  not  harsh,  Mr.  Hegner.  English  people 
are  too  sensible  and  broad-minded  to  suspect  harm 
where  there  is  none.  Indeed,  they  are  not  suspecting 
enough." 

Strange  to  say,  old  Frohling's  last  sentence  found 
an  agreeable,  even  a  comforting,  echo  in  Mr.  Hegner's 
heart.  He  looked  up,  and  for  the  first  time  the  ex- 
pression on  his  face  was  really  cordial.  "Maybe  you 
are  right,  Mr.  Frohling.  Most  heartily  do  I  desire 
it  may  be  so!  And  yet — well,  one  cannot  say  people 
would  be  altogether  wrong  in  suspecting  barbers,  for 
barbers  hear  a  great  deal  of  interesting  conversation, 
is  it  not  so?" 

"That  depends  on  their  customers,"  said  the  other 
coldly.  "I  cannot  say  that  I  ever  found  the  conver- 
sation of  the  young  English  officers  here  in  Witan- 
bury  very  illuminating." 

"Not  exactly  illuminating,"  said  the  other  cau- 
tiously. "But  take  the  last  few  days?  You  must 
have  heard  a  good  deal  of  information  as  to  com- 
ing plans." 

"Not  one  word  did  I  hear,"  said  the  other  man 
quickly — "not  one  word,  Mr.  Hegner!  Far  more 
from  my  own  intelligent,  level-headed  German  as- 


76  Good  Old  Anna 

sistant.  He  knew  and  guessed  what  none  of  these 
young  gentlemen  did — to  what  all  the  wicked  intrigues 
of  Berlin,  Petersburg  and  Vienna,  of  the  last  ten 
days  were  tending." 

"I  have  heard  to-night — in  fact  it  was  the  daugh- 
ter of  the  Dean  who  mentioned  it — that  the  British 
Army  is  going  to  Belgium,"  said  Mr.  Hegner  casually. 
"Is  your  son  going  to  Belgium,  Mr.  Frohling?" 

"Not  that  I  know  of,"  said  the  other.  But  a 
troubled  look  came  over  his  face.  He  opened  his 
mouth  as  if  to  add  something,  and  then  tightly  shut 
it  again. 

Mr.  Hegner  had  the  immediate  impression  that 
old  Frohling  could  have  told  him  something  worth 
hearing  had  he  been  willing  to  do  so. 

"Well,  that  is  all,"  said  the  host  with  a  dismissory 
air,  as  he  got  up  from  his  seat.  "I  have  many  to 
see,  many  to  advise  to-night.  One  thing  I  do  tell 
you,  Mr.  Frohling.  You  may  take  it  from  me  that  if 
you  wish  to  leave  this  place  you  should  clear  out 
quickly.  They  will  be  making  very  tiresome  regula- 
tions soon — but  not  now,  not  for  a  few  days.  For- 
tunately for  you,  and  for  all  those  who  have  not  taken 
out  their  certificates,  there  is  no  organisation  in  this 
country.  As  for  thoroughness,  they  do  not  know 
the  meaning  of  the  word." 

"I  have  sometimes  wondered,"  observed  Mr. 
Frohling  mildly,  "why  you,  who  dislike  England  so 
much,  should  have  taken  out  your  certificate,  Mr. 
Hegner.  In  your  place  I  should  have  gone  back  to 
America." 

"You  have  no  right,  no  business,  to  say  that  I 
dislike  England!"  cried  his  host  vehemently.  "It  is 


Good  Old  Anna  77 

a  wicked  thing  to  say  to  me  on  such  a  day  as  this! 
It  is  a  thing  that  might  do  me  great  harm  in  this 
city  of  which  I  am  a  Councillor." 

"It  is  not  a  thing  that  I  should  say  to  any  one 
but  you,"  returned  the  old  man.  "But  nevertheless 
it  is  true.  We  have  not  very  often  met — but  every 
time  we  have  met  you  have  spoken  in  a  disagreeable, 
a  derogatory,  a  jeering  way  of  what  is  now  your 
country." 

"And  you,"  said  Mr.  Hegner,  his  eyes  flashing, 
"have  often  spoken  to  me  in  a  derogatory,  a  jeering, 
a  disagreeable  way  of  Germany — of  the  country  where 
we  were  each  born,  of  our  real  Fatherland." 

"It  is  not  of  Germany  that  I  speak  ill,"  said  the 
older  man  wearily;  "it  is  of  what  a  few  people  have 
made  of  my  beloved  country.  To-day  we  see  the 
outcome  of  their  evil  doings.  But  all  that  is  transi- 
tory. I  am  an  old  man,  and  yet  I  hope  to  see  a  free 
Germany  rise  up." 

He  walked  through  into  the  shop,  and  beckoned 
to  his  wife.  Then  they  both  turned  towards  the  door 
through  which  they  had  gained  admittance  earlier  in 
the  evening. 

Mr.  Hegner  smoothed  out  his  brow,  and  a  me- 
chanical smile  came  to  his  lips.  He  was  glad  the 
old  Socialist  had  cleared  out  early.  It  is  not  too 
much  to  say  that  Manfred  Hegner  hated  Frohling. 
He  wondered  who  would  get  the  German  barber's 
job.  He  knew  a  man,  a  sharp,  clever  fellow,  who 
like  himself  had  lived  for  a  long  time  in  America — 
who  was,  in  fact,  an  American  citizen,  though  he 
had  been  born  in  Hamburg — who  would  be  the  very 
man  for  it.  Perhaps  now  was  scarcely  the  moment 


78  Good  Old  Anna 

to  try  and  get  yet  another  foreigner,  even  if  only  this 
time  an  American,  into  the  neighbourhood  of  the  bar- 
racks. 

The  owner  of  the  Witanbury  Stores  went  over  to 
the  place  where  Anna  Bauer  was  sitting  talking  to 
the  mother  of  one  of  Mr.  Hegner's  German  employes. 
To  call  that  young  man  German  is,  however,  wrong, 
for  some  six  weeks  ago  he  had  become  naturalised. 
Well  for  him  that  he  had  done  so,  otherwise  he 
would  have  had  now  to  go  back  to  the  Fatherland 
and  fight.  His  mother  was  the  one  really  happy  per- 
son in  the  gathering  to-night,  for  the  poor  woman 
kept  thanking  God  and  Mr.  Hegner  in  her  heart  for 
having  saved  her  son  from  an  awful  fate.  Treating 
the  mother  of  his  shopman  as  if  she  had  not  been 
there,  Mr.  Hegner  bent  towards  the  other  woman, 

"Frau  Bauer,"  he  said  graciously,  "come  into  our 
parlour  for  a  few  moments.  I  should  like  a  little 
chat  with  you." 

Anna  got  up  and  followed  him  through  the  crowd. 
What  was  it  Mr.  Hegner  wanted  to  say  to  her?  She 
felt  slightly  apprehensive.  Surely  he  was  going,  to 
tell  her  that  now,  owing  to  the  war,  he  would  have 
to  stop  the  half -commission  he  was  still  giving  her  on 
Mrs.  Otway's  modest  orders?  Her  heart  rose  in  re- 
volt. An  Englishman  belonging  to  the  type  and  class 
of  Anna  Bauer  would  have  determined  "to  have  it 
out"  with  him,  but  she  knew  well  that  she  would  not 
have  the  courage  to  say  anything  at  all  if  he  did 
this  mean  thing. 

To  her  great  surprise,  after  she  had  followed  him 


Good  Old  Anna  79 

into  the  parlour,  Mr.  Hegner  turned  the  key  in  the 
lock. 

"I  have  but  a  very  little  to  say,"  he  exclaimed 
jovially,  "but,  while  I  say  it,  I  do  not  care  to  be  in- 
terrupted !  It  is  more  cosy  so.  Sit  down,  Fran  Bauer, 
sit  down !" 

Still  surprised,  and  still  believing  that  her  host  was 
going  to  "best"  her  in  some  way,  Anna  did  sit  down. 
She  fixed  her  light-blue,  short-sighted  eyes  watchfully 
on  his  face.  What  a  pity  it  was  that  he  so  greatly 
resembled  her  adored  Kaiser! 

"You  are  very  kind,"  she  said  mechanically. 

"I  believe  that  last  Sunday,  August  ist,  there  was 
owing  to  you  this  sum."  So  saying,  he  pushed  to- 
wards her  across  the  table  five  half-sovereigns. 

Anna  Bauer  uttered  an  exclamation  of  profound 
astonishment.  She  stared  down  at  the  money  lying 
now  close  to  her  fat  red  hand. 

"Is  not  that  so?"  he  said,  looking  at  her  fixedly. 

And  at  last  she  stammered  out,  "Yes,  that  is  so. 
But — but do  you  then  know  Willi,  Mr.  Hegner?" 

The  man  sitting  opposite  to  her  remained  silent 
for  a  moment.  He  hadn't  the  slightest  idea  who 
"Willi"  was.  "Ach,  yes!  It  is  from  him  that  you 
generally  receive  this  money  every  six  months — I  had 
forgotten  that!  Willi  is  a  good  fellow.  Have  you 
known  him  long?"  He  wisely  waited  for  a  reply, 
for  on  his  tongue  had  been  the  words,  "I  suppose  he 
lives  in  London?" 

"I  have  only  known  him  three  years,"  said  Anna, 
"and  that  though  he  married  my  niece  seven  years 
ago.  Yes,  Willi  is  indeed  an  excellent  fellow !" 

And  then  she  suddenly  bethought  herself  of  what 


8o  Good  Old  Anna 

Mrs.  Otway  had  said  that  very  morning.  Mr.  Heg- 
ner  would  certainly  be  able  to  tell  her  the  truth — • 
he  was  the  sort  of  man  who  knew  everything  of  a 
practical,  business  nature.  "Perhaps  you  will  be  able 
to  tell  me,"  she  asked  eagerly,  "if  my  nephew  will 
have  to  fight — to  go  to  the  frontier.  Mrs.  Otway, 
she  says  that  the  police  are  always  the  last  to  be  called 
out — is  that  true,  Mr.  Hegner?" 

"Yes,  I  think  I  may  assure  you,  Frau  Bauer,  that 
it  is  a  fact."  He  looked  at  her  curiously.  "You  are 
very  fond,  then,  of  your  niece's  husband,  of  the  ex- 
cellent Willi?" 

"I  am  indeed,"  she  said  eagerly,  "and  grateful  to 
him  too,  for  this  money  he  sends  me  is  very  welcome, 
Mr.  Hegner.  I  was  so  afraid  it  might  not  come  this 
time." 

"And  you  were  right  to  be  afraid!  It  will  become 
more  and  more  difficult  to  get  money  from  Germany 
to  England,"  said  her  host,  and  there  was  a  touch  of 
grimness  in  his  voice.  "Still,  there  are  ways  of  get- 
ting over  every  difficulty.  Should  the  war  last  as 
long,  I  will  certainly  see  that  you,  Frau  Bauer,  receive 
what  is  your  due  on  the  ist  of  next  January.  But 
many  strange  things  may  happen  before  then.  Long 
before  Christmas  you  may  no  longer  be  earning  this 
money." 

"Oh !  I  hope  that  will  not  be  the  case!"  She  looked 
very  much  disturbed.  £5  a  year  was  about  a  fifth  of 
good  old  Anna's  total  income. 

"Well,  we  shall  see.  I  will  do  my  best  for  you, 
Frau  Bauer." 

"Thank  you,  thank  you  f  I  am  very  grateful  to  you, 
Mr.  Hegner." 


Good  Old  Anna  81 

Indeed  old  Anna's  feelings  towards  the  man  who 
sat  there,  playing  with  a  pen  in  his  hand,  had  under- 
gone an  extraordinary  transformation.  She  had  come 
into  the  room  disliking  him,  fearing  him,  feeling  sure 
that  he  was  going  to  take  some  advantage  of  her. 
Now  she  stared  at  his  moody,  rather  flushed  face,  full 
of  wondering  gratitude. 

How  strange  that  he  had  never  taken  the  trouble 
to  tell  her  that  he  knew  Willi!  She  was  sorry  to 
remember  how  often  she  had  dissuaded  her  mistress 
from  getting  something  at  the  Stores  that  could  be 
got  elsewhere,  some  little  thing  on  which  the  tiny 
commission  she  received  would  have  been  practically 
nil,  or,  worse  still,  overlooked.  Her  commission  had 
been  often  overlooked  of  late  unless  she  kept  a  very 
sharp  look-out  on  the  bills,  which  Mrs.  Otway  had  a 
tiresome  habit  of  locking  away  when  receipted. 

She  took  the  five  precious  gold  pieces  off  the  table, 
and  moved,  as  if  to  rise  from  her  chair. 

But  Mr.  Hegner  waved  his  hand.  "Sit  down,  sit 
down,  Frau  Bauer,"  he  said.  "There  is  no  hurry. 
I  enjoy  the  thought  of  a  little  chat  with  you."  He 
waited  a  moment.  "And  are  you  thinking  of  staying 
on  in  your  present  position?  You  are — let  me  see — • 
with  Mrs.  Otway?" 

"Oh  yes,"  she  said,  brightening.  "I  shall  certainly 
stay  where  I  am.  I  am  very  happy  there.  They  are 
very  kind  to  me,  Mr.  Hegner.  I  love  my  young  lady 
as  much  as  I  do  my  own  child." 

"It  is  a  quiet  house,"  he  went  on,  "a  quiet  house, 
with  very  little  coming  and  going,  Frau  Bauer.  Is 
not  that  so?" 


82  Good  Old  Anna 

"There  is  a  good  deal  of  visiting,"  she  said  quickly. 
"It  is  a  hospitable  house." 

"Not  often  gentlemen  of  the  garrison,  I  suppose?" 

"Indeed,  yes,"  cried  Anna  eagerly.  "You  know 
how  it  is  in  England?  It  is  not  like  in  our  country. 
Here  everybody  is  much  more  associated.  In  some 
ways  it  is  pleasanter." 

"Very  true.  And  had  any  of  these  officers  who 
came  and  called  on  your  two  ladies  reason  to  suppose 
that  the  war  was  coming?" 

Anna  stared  at  him,  surprised.  "No,  indeed!"  she 
cried.  "English  officers  never  talk  of  warlike  subjects. 
I  have  never  even  seen  one  of  them  wearing  his  uni- 
form." 

"It  looks  to  me  as  if  I  shall  have  to  add  a  new  line 
of  officers'  kit  to  the  Stores,"  said  Mr.  Hegner  thought- 
fully. "And  any  information  you  give  me  about  offi- 
cers just  now  might  be  very  useful  in  my  business.  I 
know,  Frau  Bauer,  that  you  were  annoyed,  disap- 
pointed about  that  little  matter  of  the  commission 
being  halved." 

"Oh  no,"  murmured  Anna,  rather  confusedly. 

"Yes,  and  I  understand  your  point  of  view.  Well, 
from  to-day,  Frau  Bauer,  I  restore  the  old  scale !  And 
if  at  any  time  you  can  say  anything  about  the  Stores 
to  the  visitors  who  come  to  see  your  ladies — anything, 
you  understand,  that  may  lead  to  an  order — I  will  be 
generous,  I  will  recognise  your  help  in  the  widest 
sense." 

Anna  got  up  again,  and  so  did  her  host.  "Well, 
we  have  had  a  pleasant  gossip,"  he  said.  "And  one 
word  more,  Frau  Bauer.  You  have  not  told  any  one, 
not  even  your  daughter,  of — of—-—"  he  hesitated, 


Good  Old  Anna  83 

for  he  did  not  wish  to  put  in  plain  words  the  question 
he  wished  to  convey — "of  that  other  matter — of  that 
in  which  your  nephew  is  concerned?" 

"I  gave  my  solemn  promise  to  Willi  to  say  nothing," 
said  Anna,  "and  I  am  not  one  who  ever  breaks  my 
word,  Mr.  Hegner." 

"That  I  am  sure  you  are  not!  And  Fran  Bauer? 
Do  not  attempt  to  write  to  the  Fatherland  henceforth. 
Your  letters  would  be  opened,  your  business  all  spied 
out,  and  then  the  letters  destroyed!  I  am  at  your 
disposal  for  any  information  you  require.  Come  in 
and  see  us  sometimes,"  he  said  cordially.  "Let  me 
see — to-day  is  Wednesday.  How  about  Sunday? 
Come  in  on  Sunday  night,  if  you  can  do  so,  and  have 
a  little  supper.  You  may  have  news  of  interest  to 
my  business  to  give  me,  and  in  any  case  it  is  pleasant 
to  chat  among  friends." 


CHAPTER  VIII 

TT  was  now  the  morning  of  Friday,  the  third  day  of 
•*•  war,  and  Mrs.  Otway  allowed  the  newspaper  she 
had  been  holding  in  her  hands  to  slip  on  to  the  floor  at 
her  feet  with  an  impatient  sigh. 

From  where  she  sat,  close  to  the  window  in  her 
charming  sitting-room,  her  eyes  straying  down  to  the 
ground  read  in  huge  characters  at  the  top  of  one  of 
the  newspaper  columns  the  words : 

"THE  FLEET  MOBILISED." 

"MOTOR  RUSH  FOR  VOLUNTEERS." 

."HOW  THE  NAVAL  RESERVE  RECEIVED   THEIR 

NOTICES." 
"OUR  SAILORS'  GOOD-BYE." 

Then,  at  the  top  of  another  column,  in  rather 
smaller  characters,  as  though  that  news  was  after  all 
not  really  so  important  as  the  home  news : 

"DEFEAT  OF  THE  GERMANS  AT  LIEGE." 

"COMPLETE  ROUT." 
"GERMANS  REPULSED  AT  ALL  POINTS." 

Finally,  in  considerably  smaller  characters : 

"ALLEGED  GERMAN  CRUELTIES  IN  BELGIUM." 
84 


Good  Old  Anna  85 

She  raised  her  eyes  and  looked  out,  over  the  Close, 
to  where  the  Cathedral  rose  like  a  diamond  set  in 
emeralds.  What  a  beautiful  day — and  how  quiet,  how 
much  more  quiet  than  usual,  was  the  dear,  familiar, 
peaceful  scene!  All  this  week,  thanks  in  a  great 
measure  to  the  prolonged  Bank  Holiday,  Witanbury 
had  been  bathed  in  a  sabbatical  calm. 

Oddly  enough,  this  had  not  been  as  pleasant  as  it 
ought  to  have  been.  In  fact,  it  had  been  rather  un- 
pleasant to  find  nearly  all  the  shops  shut  day  after 
day,  and  it  had  become  really  awkward  and  annoying 
not  to  be  able  to  get  money  as  one  required  it.  At 
this  very  moment  Rose  was  out  in  the  town,  trying 
to  cash  a  cheque,  for  they  were  quite  out  of  petty 
cash. 

During  the  last  three  days  Major  Guthrie,  who  so 
seldom  allowed  more  than  a  day  and  a  half  to  slip 
by  without  coming  to  the  Trellis  House,  had  not  called, 
neither  had  he  written.  Mrs.  Otway  was  surprised, 
and  rather  annoyed  with  herself,  to  find  how  much 
she  missed  him.  She  realised  that  it  was  the  more 
unreasonable  of  her,  as  at  first,  say  all  last  Wednes- 
day, she  had  shrunk  from  the  thought  of  seeing  him, 
the  one  person  among  her  acquaintances,  with  the  in- 
significant exception  of  young  Jervis  Blake,  who  had 
believed  in  the  possibility  of  an  Anglo-German  con- 
flict. But  when  the  whole  of  that  long  day,  the  first 
day  of  war,  had  gone  by,  and  the  next  day  also, 
without  bringing  with  it  even  the  note  which,  during 
his  infrequent  absences,  she  had  grown  accustomed 
to  receive  from  Major  Guthrie,  she  felt  hurt  and 
injured. 

Major  Guthrie  was  one  of  those  rather  inarticulate 


86  Good  Old  Anna 

Englishmen  who  can  express  themselves  better  in 
writing  than  in  speech.  When  he  and  Mrs.  Otway 
were  together,  she  could  always,  and  generally  did, 
out-talk  him ;  but  often,  after  some  discussion  of  theirs, 
he  would  go  home  and  write  her  quite  a  good  letter. 
And  then,  after  reading  it,  and  perhaps  smiling  over 
it  a  little,  she  would  tear  it  up  and  put  the  pieces  in 
the  waste-paper  basket. 

Yes,  her  rather  odd,  unconventional  friendship  with 
Major  Guthrie  was  a  pleasant  feature  of  her  placid, 
agreeably  busy  life,  and  it  was  strange  that  he  had 
neither  come,  nor  written  and  explained  what  kept 
him  away. 

And  while  Mrs.  Otway  sat  there,  waiting  she  knew 
not  quite  for  what,  old  Anna  sat  knitting  in  her 
kitchen  on  the  other  side  of  the  hall,  also  restlessly 
longing  for  something,  anything,  to  happen,  which 
would  give  her  news  of  what  was  really  going  on  in 
the  Fatherland.  All  her  heart,  during  these  last  three 
days,  had  been  with  Minna  and  Willi  in  far-off  Berlin. 

A  few  moments  ago  a  picture  paper  had  been  spread 
out  on  the  table  before  Anna.  She  always  enjoyed 
herself  over  that  paper.  It  was  Miss  Rose's  daily 
gift  to  her  old  nurse,  and  was  paid  for  out  of  her  small 
allowance.  The  two  morning  papers  read  by  her 
ladies  were  in  due  course  used  to  light  the  fires;  but 
Anna  kept  her  own  Daily  Pictorials  most  carefully, 
and  there  was  an  ever-growing  neat  pile  of  them  in  a 
corner  of  the  scullery. 

But  to-day's  Daily  Pictorial  lay  in  a  crumpled  heap, 
tossed  to  one  side  on  the  floor  of  the  kitchen,  for  poor 
old  Anna  had  just  read  out  the  words : 


Good  Old  Anna  87 

"FRENCH  FRONTIER  SUCCESSES." 
"GERMAN  DRAGOON  REGIMENT  ANNIHILATED." 

"ONE  THOUSAND  GERMAN  PRISONERS 
IN  ALSACE." 

Up  to  this  strange,  sinister  week,  Anna  had  con- 
tented herself  with  looking  at  the  pictures.  She  had 
hardly  ever  glanced  at  the  rest  of  the  paper.  She  did 
not  like  the  look  of  English  print,  and  she  read  English 
with  difficulty.  But  this  morning  the  boy  who  had 
brought  the  fish  had  said,  not  disagreeably,  but  as  if 
he  was  giving  her  a  rather  amusing  bit  of  information, 
"Your  friends  have  been  catching  it  hot,  Mrs.  Bauer ; 
and  from  what  I  can  make  out,  they  deserves  it!" 
She  had  not  quite  understood  what  he  meant,  but  it 
had  made  her  uneasy ;  and  after  she  had  cleared  away 
breakfast,  and  washed  up,  she  had  sat  down  with  her 
paper  spread  before  her. 

She  had  looked  long  at  a  touching  picture  of  a  big 
sailor  saying  good-bye  to  the  tiny  baby  in  his  arms. 
He  was  kissing  the  child,  and  Anna  had  contemplated 
him  with  a  good  deal  of  sympathy.  That  big  bearded 
British  sailor  would  soon  be  face  to  face  with  the 
German  Navy.  Thus  he  was  surely  doomed.  His  babe 
would  soon  be  fatherless.  Kind  old  Anna  wiped  her 
eyes  at  the  thought. 

And  then?  And  then  she  had  slowly  spelled  out 
the  incredible,  the  dreadful  news  about  the  German 
Dragoon  Regiment.  Her  father,  forty-four  years  ago, 
had  been  a  non-commissioned  officer  in  a  Dragoon 
Regiment. 

Yes,  both  mistress  and  maid  felt  wretched  on  this, 


Good  Old  Anna 


the  third  day  of  the  war,  which  no  one,  in  England 
at  least,  yet  thought  of  as  the  Great  War. 

Mrs.  Otway  was  restless,  quite  unlike  herself.  She 
wondered,  uneasily,  why  she  felt  so  depressed.  Friday 
was  the  day  when  she  always  paid  her  few  household 
books,  but  to-day,  as  it  was  still  Bank  Holiday,  the 
books  had  not  come  in.  Instead,  she  had  had  three 
letters,  marked  in  each  case  "Private,"  from  humble 
folk  in  the  town,  asking  her  most  urgently  to  pay  at 
once  the  small  sum  she  owed  to  each  of  them.  In 
every  case  the  writer  expressed  the  intention  of  calling 
in  person  for  the  money.  It  was  partly  to  try  and 
get  the  cash  with  which  to  pay  these  accounts  that 
Rose  had  gone  out  with  a  cheque.  It  was  so  odd, 
so  disagreeable,  to  find  oneself  without  the  power  of 
getting  any  ready  money.  Such  a  thing  had  never 
happened  to  Mrs.  Otway  before!  It  would  be  really 
very  disagreeable  if  Rose,  after  all,  failed  to  cash  that 
cheque. 

Then  it  suddenly  occurred  to  her  that  James 
Hayley  might  bring  her  down  some  money  to-morrow. 
Nothing  would  be  easier,  or  so  she  supposed,  than  for 
him  to  get  it.  She  went  over  to  her  writing-table  by 
the  window  and  hurriedly  wrote  a  note.  Then  she 
made  out  a  cheque  for  twenty  pounds. 

Oh  yes,  it  would  be  quite  easy  for  James,  who  was 
in  a  Government  office,  to  get  her  the  money! 

Mrs.  Otway,  like  most  English  people,  had  a  limit- 
less belief  in  the  powers  of  any  one  connected  with 
the  Government.  Twenty  pounds?  It  was  a  good 
deal  of  money.  She  had  never  had  so  much  cash  in 
the  house  before.  But  what  was  happening  now 
had  taught  her  a  lesson.  The  Dean  had  said  that  all 


Good  Old  Anna 


the  banks  would  be  open  again  on  Monday.    But  the 
Dean  was  not  quite  infallible.    How  often  had  he  and 
she  agreed  that  Germany  would  never,  never  dream  of 
going  to  war  with  any  of  her  peaceful  neighbours  1 
She  read  over  the  letter  she  had  written : 

"DEAR  JAMES, — I  enclose  a  cheque  for  twenty 
pounds.  Would  you  kindly  get  it  cashed  for  me,  and 
would  you  bring  down  the  money  to-morrow  when 
you  come?  Of  course  I  should  like  the  money,  if 
possible,  in  gold,  but  still  it  will  do  if  you  can  get 
me  two  five-pound  notes  and  the  rest  in  gold  and 
silver.  I  find  that  several  people  to  whom  I  owe  small 
amounts  are  anxious  to  be  paid,  and  they  do  not  seem 
to  care  about  taking  cheques.  What  strange  times 
we  live  in !  Both  Rose  and  I  long  to  see  you  and  hear 
all  the  news. 

"Your  affectionate  aunt, 

"MARY  OTWAY." 

James  Hayley  always  called  her  "Aunt  Mary," 
though  as  a  matter  of  fact  he  was  the  child  of  a  first 
cousin. 

She  got  up  from  her  table,  and  began  folding  up  the 
sheets  of  newspaper  lying  on  the  floor.  She  did  not 
want  poor  old  Anna  to  see  the  great  staring  head- 
lines telling  of  the  defeat  of  the  Germans.  Having 
folded  the  paper,  and  put  it  away  in  an  unobtrusive 
corner,  she  went  upstairs  for  her  hat.  She  felt  that  it 
would  do  her  good  to  go  out  into  the  air,  and  post  the 
letter  herself. 

And  then,  as  she  came  downstairs,  she  heard  the 
gate  of  the  Trellis  House  open  and  swing  to.  Rose 


9O  Good  Old  Anna 

coming  back,  no  doubt.  But  no,  it  was  not  Rose,  for 
instead  of  the  handle  of  the  door  turning,  there  was  a 
ring  and  a  knock. 

It  was  a  ring  and  a  knock  which  sounded  pleasantly 
familiar.  Mrs.  Otway  smiled  as  she  turned  into  her 
sitting-room.  It  was  the  first  time  she  had  smiled  that 
day. 

Major  Guthrie  at  last!  It  was  half-past  eleven 
now;  they  could  have  a  good  long,  comfortable  talk, 
and  perhaps  he  would  stop  to  lunch.  Of  course  she 
would  have  to  eat  humble  pie  about  the  war,  but  he 
was  the  last  man  to  say  "I  told  you  so !" 

There  were  so  many  things  she  wanted  to  know, 
which  now  she  could  ask  him,  secure  of  a  sensible, 
true  answer.  Major  Guthrie,  whatever  his  prejudices, 
was  a  professional  soldier.  He  really  did  know  some- 
thing of  military  matters.  He  was  not  like  the  people 
who  lived  in  the  Close,  and  who  were  already  talking 
such  nonsense  about  the  war.  Mrs.  Otway  was  too 
intelligent  not  to  realise  the  fact  that  they,  whatever 
their  boasts,  knew  nothing  which  could  throw  real 
light  on  the  great  adventure  which  was  beginning,  only 
beginning,  to  fill  all  her  thoughts. 

Suddenly  the  door  opened,  and  Anna  announced, 
in  a  grumpy  tone,  "Major  Guthrie." 

"I  thought  I  was  never  going  to  see  you  again !" 

There  was  an  eagerness,  a  warmth  of  welcome  in 
Mrs.  Otway's  manner  of  which  she  was  unconscious, 
but  which  gave  a  sudden  shock  of  pleasure,  aye,  and 
perhaps  even  more  than  pleasure,  to  her  visitor.  He 
had  expected  to  find  her  anxious,  depressed,  troubled 
—above  all,  deeply  saddened  by  the  dreadful  thing 


Good  Old  Anna  911 

having  come  to  pass  which  she  had  so  often  vehe- 
mently declared  would  never,  never  happen. 

They  shook  hands,  but  before  she  could  go  on  to 
utter  one  of  the  many  questions  which  were  on  her 
lips,  Major  Guthrie  spoke.  "I've  come  to  say  good- 
bye," he  said  abruptly.  "I've  had  my  marching 
orders!"  There  was  a  strange  light  in  the  dark  blue 
eyes  which  were  the  one  beautiful  feature  he  had 
acquired  from  his  very  handsome  mother. 

"I — I  don't  understand "  And  she  really  didn't. 

What  could  he  mean?  His  marching  orders?  But 
he  had  left  the  Army  four  or  five  years  ago.  Besides, 
the  Dean  had  told  her  only  that  morning  that  no 
portion  of  the  British  Army  was  going  to  the  Con- 
tinent— that  on  England's  part  this  was  only  going 
to  be  a  naval  war.  The  Dean  had  heard  this  fact  from 
a  friend  in  London,  a  distinguished  German  professor 
of  Natural  Theology,  who  was  a  very  frequent  visitor 
to  the  Deanery. 

Major  Guthrie  slightly  lowered  his  voice:  "I  had 
the  telegram  an  hour  ago,"  he  explained.  "I  thought 
you  knew  that  I  was  in  the  Reserve,  that  I  form  part 
of  what  is  called  the  Expeditionary  Force." 

"The  Expeditionary  Force?"  she  repeated  in  a  be- 
wildered tone.  "I  didn't  know  there  was  such  a  thing ! 
You  never  told  me  about  it." 

"Well,  you've  never  been  interested  in  such  mat- 
ters." Major  Guthrie  smiled  at  her  indulgently,  and 
suddenly  she  realised  that  when  they  were  together 
she  generally  talked  of  her  own  concerns,  very,  very 
seldom  of  his. 

But  what  was  this  he  was  now  saying?  "Besides, 
it's  by  way  of  being  a  secret.  That's  the  real  reason 


92  Good  Old  Anna 

I  haven't  been  out  the  last  few  days.  I  didn't  feel  I 
could  leave  home  for  even  five  minutes.  I've  been 
on  tenterhooks — in  fact  it  will  take  me  two  or  three 
days  to  get  fit  again.  You  see,  I  couldn't  say  anything 
to  anybody!  And  one  heard  such  absurd  rumours — 
rumours  that  the  Government  didn't  mean  to  send  any 
troops  to  the  Continent — that  they  had  been  caught 
napping — that  the  transport  arrangements  had  broken 
down,  and  so  on.  However,  it's  all  right  now !  I  report 
myself  to-night;  rejoin  my  old  regiment  to-morrow; 
and — well,  in  three  or  four  days,  please  God,  I  shall 
be  in  France,  and  in  a  week  at  latest  in  Belgium." 

Mrs.  Otway  looked  at  him  silently.  She  was  too 
much  surprised  to  speak.  She  felt  moved,  oppressed, 
excited.  A  British  Army  going  to  France — to  Bel- 
gium? It  seemed  incredible! 

And  Major  Guthrie  also  felt  moved  and  excited, 
but  he  was  not  oppressed — he  was  triumphant,  over- 
joyed. "I  thought  you'd  understand,"  he  said,  and 
there  was  a  little  break  in  his  voice.  "It's  made  me 
feel  a  young  man  again — that's  what  it's  done !" 

"How  does  your  mother  take  it?"  asked  Mrs.  Ot- 
way slowly. 

And  then  for  the  first  time  a  troubled  look  came 
over  his  kind,  honest  face.  "I  haven't  told  my 
mother,"  he  answered.  "I've  thought  a  good  deal 
about  it;  and  I  don't  mean  to  say  good-bye  to  her — • 
I  shall  simply  write  her  a  note  saying  I've  had  to  go 
up  to  town  on  business.  She'll  have  it  when  I'm 
gone.  Then,  when  the  news  is  allowed  to  be  made 
public,  I'll  write  and  tell  her  the  truth.  She  felt  my 
going  to  South  Africa  so  much.  You  see,  the  man 


Good  Old  Anna  93 

to  whom  she  was  engaged  as  a  girl  was  killed  in  the 
Crimea." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence  between  them,  and 
then  he  asked,  "And  Miss  Rose? — I  should  like  to  say 
good-bye  to  her.  Is  she  at  home  ?" 

"No,  she's  out  in  the  town,  doing  some  business 
for  me — or  rather  trying  to  do  it!  Have  you  found 
any  difficulty  in  getting  cheques  changed  the  last  few 
days,  Major  Guthrie?" 

"No;  for  I've  always  kept  money  in  the  house," 
he  said  quickly.  "And  glad  I  am  now  that  I  did. 
It  used  to  annoy  my  mother — it  used  to  make  her 
afraid  that  we  should  be  burgled.  But  of  course  I 
never  told  any  one  else."  He  looked  at  her  rather 
oddly.  "I've  quite  a  lot  of  money  here,  with  me 
now." 

"I  wonder  if  you  would  be  so  kind  as  to  cash  me 
a  cheque  ?"  She  grew  a  little  pink.  She  was  not  used 
to  asking  even  small  favours  from  her  friends.  Im- 
pulsive, easy-going  as  she  seemed,  there  was  yet  a 
very  proud  and  reticent  streak  in  Mary  Otway's  nature. 

"Of  course  I  will.  In  fact "  and  then  he 

stopped  abruptly,  for  she  had  gone  up  to  her  table, 
and  was  opening  the  letter  she  had  just  written  to 
James  Hayley. 

"Could  you  really  conveniently  let  me  have  as  much 
as  twenty  pounds?"  and  she  held  him  out  the  cheque." 

"Certainly.  Then  you're  not  expecting  Miss  Rose 
back  for  a  minute  or  two?" 

"Oh,  no!    She  only  went  out  twenty  minutes  ago." 

He  was  still  standing,  and  Mrs.  Otway  suddenly 
felt  herself  to  be  inhospitable. 

"Do  sit  down,"  she  said  hurriedly.     Somehow  in 


94  Good  Old  Anna 

the  last  few  minutes  her  point  of  view,  her  attitude  to 
her  friend,  her  kind,  considerate,  courteous  friend,  had 
altered.  She  no  longer  looked  at  him  with  indulgent 
half-contempt  as  an  idle  man,  a  man  who,  though  he 
was  very  good  to  his  mother,  and  sometimes  very  use- 
ful to  herself,  had  always  led,  excepting  during  the 
South  African  War  (and  that  was  a  long  time  ago), 
an  idle,  useless  kind  of  life.  He  was  going  now  to 
face  real  danger, perchance — but  hermind  shrank  from 
that  thought,  from  that  dread  possibility — death  itself. 
Somehow  the  fact  that  Major  Guthrie  was  going  with 
his  regiment  to  France  brought  the  War  perceptibly 
nearer  to  Mrs.  Otway,  and  made  it  for  the  first  time 
real. 

He  quietly  took  the  easy  chair  she  had  motioned 
him  to  take,  and  she  sat  down  too. 

"Well,  I  have  to  confess  that  you  were  right  and 
I  wrong!  You  always  thought  we  should  fight  the 
Germans."  She  tried  to  speak  playfully,  but  there 
was  a  certain  pain  in  the  admission,  for  she  had  always 
scorned  his  quiet  prophecies  and  declared  him  to  be, 
in  this  one  matter,  prejudiced  and  unfair. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "that's  quite  true!  But,  Mrs.  Ot- 
way? I'm  very,  very  sorry  to  have  been  proved  right. 
And  I  fear  that  you  must  feel  it  very  much,  as  you 
have  so  many  German  friends." 

"I  haven't  many  German  friends  now,"  she  said 
quickly.  "I  had  as  a  girl,  and  of  course  I've  kept  up 
with  two  or  three  of  them,  as  you  know.  But  it's 
true  that  the  whole  thing  is  a  great  shock  and — and  a 
great  pain  to  me.  Unlike  you,  I've  always  thought  very 
well  of  Germans." 

He  said  quietly,  "So  have  I." 


Good  Old  Anna  95 

"Ah,  but  not  in  my  sense!"  She  could  not  help 
smiling  a  little  ruefully.  "You  know  I  never  thought 
of  them  in  your  sense  at  all — I  mean  not  as  soldiers." 

There  was  a  pause,  a  long  and  rather  painful  pause, 
between  them. 


CHAPTER  IX 

MAJOR  GUTHRIE  looked  at  Mrs.  Otway  medi- 
tatively. 

Apart  from  his  instinctive  attraction  for  her — an 
attraction  which  had  sprung  into  being  the  very  first 
time  they  had  met,  at  a  dinner  party  at  the  Deanery — 
he  had  always  regarded  her  as  an  exceptionally  clever 
woman.  She  was  able  to  do  so  much  more  than  most 
of  the  ladies  he  had  known.  To  his  simple  soldier  mind 
there  was  something  interesting  and,  well,  yes,  rather 
extraordinary,  in  a  woman  who  sat  on  committees, 
who  could  hold  her  own  so  well  in  argument,  and 
who  yet  remained  very  feminine,  sometimes — so  he 
secretly  thought — quite  delightfully  absurd  and  incon- 
sequent, with  it  all. 

Major  Guthrie  had  always  been  sorry  that  Mrs. 
Otway  and  his  mother  didn't  exactly  hit  it  off.  His 
mother  had  once  been  a  beauty,  and  was  now  a  rather 
shrewish,  sharp-tongued  old  lady,  who  had  outlived 
most  of  the  people  and  most  of  the  things  she  had 
cared  for  in  life.  Mrs.  Otway  irritated  Mrs.  Guthrie. 
The  old  lady  despised  the  still  pretty  widow's  eager, 
interested,  enthusiastic  outlook  on  life. 

Suddenly  Major  Guthrie  took  a  large  pocket-book 
out  of  his  right  breast  pocket.  He  opened  it,  and 
Mrs.  Otway  saw  that  it  contained  a  packet  of  bank- 
notes held  together  by  an  india-rubber  band.  There 
was  also  an  empty  white  envelope  in  the  pocket-book. 
Slipping  off  the  band,  he  began  counting  the  notes. 

9* 


Good  Old  Anna  97 

When  he  had  counted  four,  she  called  out,  "Stop! 
Stop!  I  am  only  giving  you  a  twenty-pound  cheque." 
And  then  she  saw  that  they  were  not  five-pound  notes, 
as  she  had  supposed,  but  ten-pound  notes. 

He  went  on  counting,  and  mechanically,  hardly 
knowing  that  she  was  doing  so,  she  counted  with  him 
up  to  ten.  He  then  took  the  envelope  he  had  brought 
with  him,  put  the  ten  notes  inside,  and  getting  up 
from  his  chair  he  laid  the  envelope  on  Mrs.  Otway's 
writing-table  by  the  window. 

"I  want  you  to  keep  this  by  you  in  case  of  need. 
I  know  you  will  forgive  me  if  I  say  that  I  shall  go  away 
feeling  much  happier  if  you  will  oblige  me  by  doing 
what  I  ask  in  this  matter."  Under  the  tan  his  face 
had  got  very  red,  and  there  was  a  deprecating  ex- 
pression in  his  dark  blue  eyes. 

"I  don't  understand,"  she  said,  and  the  colour  also 
rushed  into  her  face. 

"I  beg  of  you  not  to  be  angry  with  me "   Major 

Guthrie  stood  up  and  looked  down  at  her  so  humbly, 
so  wistfully,  that  she  felt  touched  instead  of  angry. 
"You  see,  I  don't  like  the  thought  of  your  being 
caught,  as  you've  been  caught  this  week  apparently, 
without  any  money  in  the  house." 

But  if  Mrs.  Otway  felt  touched  by  the  kind  thought 
which  had  prompted  the  offer  of  this  uncalled-for 
loan,  she  also  felt  just  a  little  vexed.  Major  Guthrie 
was  treating  her  just  like  a  child ! 

"I'm  not  in  the  least  likely  to  be  short  of  money," 
she  cried,  "once  the  banks  are  open  again.  The  Dean 
says  that  everything  will  be  as  usual  by  Monday,  and 
I  have  quite  a  lot  of  money  coming  in  towards  the 
end  of  this  month.  In  fact,  as  we  can't  now  go 


Good  Old  Anna 


abroad,  I  shall  be  even  richer  than  usual.    Still,  please 
don't  think  I'm  not  grateful!" 

She  got  up  too,  and  looked  at  him  frankly.  The 
colour  had  now  gone  from  his  face,  and  he  looked 
tired  and  grey.  She  told  herself  that  it  had  been  very 
kind  of  him  to  have  thought  of  this — the  act  of  a 
true  friend.  And  so,  a  little  shyly,  she  put  out  her 
hand  for  a  moment,  naturally  supposing  that  he  would 
grasp  it  in  friendship.  But  he  did  nothing  of  the 
sort,  so  she  quietly  let  her  hand  fall  again  by  her  side, 
and  feeling  rather  foolish  sat  down  again  by  her 
writing-table. 

"With  regard  to  the  money  you  are  expecting  at 
the  end  of  this  month — do  you  mean  the  dividends  due 
on  the  amount  you  put  in  that  Six  Per  Cent.  Hamburg 
Loan?"  he  asked,  quietly  going  back  to  his  armchair. 

"Yes,  it  is  six  per  cent,  on  four  thousand  pounds — 
quite  a  lot  of  money!"  She  spoke  in  a  playful  tone, 
but  she  was  beginning  to  feel  embarrassed  and  awk- 
ward. It  was,  after  all,  an  odd  thing  for  Major 
Guthrie  to  have  done — to  bring  her  the  considerable 
sum  of  a  hundred  pounds  in  bank-notes  without  even 
first  asking  her  permission  to  do  so. 

The  envelope  containing  the  notes  was  still  lying 
there,  close  to  her  elbow. 

"I'm  afraid,  Mrs.  Otway,  that  you're  not  likely  to 
have  those  dividends  paid  you  this  August.  All  money 
payments  from  Germany  to  England,  or  from  Eng- 
land to  Germany,  have  of  course  stopped  since 
Wednesday." 

And  then,  when  he  saw  the  look  of  utter  dismay 
deepening  into  horrified  surprise  come  over  her  face, 
lie  added  hastily,  "Of  course  we  must  hope  that  these 


Good  Old  Anna  99 

moneys  will  be  kept  intact  till  the  end  of  the  war. 
Still,  I  doubt  very  much  whether  your  bankers  would 
allow  you  to  draw  on  that  probability,  even  if  you 
were  willing  to  pay  a  high  rate  of  interest.  German 
credit  is  likely  to  suffer  greatly  before  this  war  is 
over." 

"But  Major  Outline?  I  don't  suppose  you  know 
what  this  means  to  me  and  to  Rose.  Why,  more  than 
half  of  everything  we  have  in  the  world  is  invested 
in  Germany!" 

"I  know  that/'  he  said  feelingly.  "In  fact,  that  was 
among  the  first  things,  Mrs.  Otway,  which  occurred 
to  me  when  I  learnt  that  war  had  been  declared.  I 
expected  to  find  you  very  much  upset  about  it." 

"I  never  gave  it  a  thought;  I  didn't  know  a  war 
could  affect  that  sort  of  thing.  What  a  fool  I've  been ! 
Oh,  if  only  I'd  followed  your  advice — I  mean  two 
years  ago!"  She  spoke  with  a  great  deal  of  painful 
agitation,  and  Major  Guthrie  felt  very  much  distressed 
indeed.  It  was  hard  that  he  should  have  had  to  be 
the  bearer  of  such  ill  tidings. 

"I  blame  myself  very,  very  much,"  he  said  sombrely, 
"for  not  having  insisted  on  your  putting  that  money 
into  English  or  Colonial  securities." 

"Oh,  but  you  did  insist!"  Even  now,  in  the  midst 
of  her  keen  distress,  the  woman's  native  honesty  and 
generosity  of  nature  asserted  itself.  "You  couldn't 
have  said  more !  Don't  you  remember  that  we  nearly 
quarrelled  over  it?  Short  of  forging  my  name  and 
stealing  my  money  and  investing  it  properly  for  me, 
you  couldn't  have  done  anything  more  than  you  did  do, 
Major  Guthrie." 

"That  you  should  say  that  is  a  great  comfort  to 


ioo  Good  Old  Anna 

me,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice.  "But  even  so,  I  don't 
feel  as  if  I'd  really  done  enough.  You  see,  I  was  as 
sure — as  sure  as  ever  man  was  of  anything — that  this 
war  was  going  to  come  either  this  year  or  next !  As 
a  matter  of  fact  I  thought  it  would  be  next  year — I 
thought  the  Germans  would  wish  to  be  even  more 
ready  than  they  are." 

"But  do  you  really  think  they  are  ready?"  she  said 
doubtfully.  "Look  how  badly  they've  been  doing  at 
Liege."  It  was  strange  how  Mrs.  Otway's  mind 
had  veered  round  in  the  last  few  minutes.  She  now 
wanted  the  Germans  to  be  beaten,  and  beaten  quickly. 

He  shook  his  head  impatiently.  "Wait  till  they  get 
into  their  stride!"  And  then,  in  a  different,  a  more 
diffident  voice,  "Then  you'll  consent  to  relieve  my  mind 
by  keeping  the  contents  of  that  envelope — I  mean  of 
course  by  spending  them?  As  a  matter  of  fact  I've  a 
confession  to  make  to  you."  He  looked  at  her  depre- 
catingly.  "I've  just  arranged  with  my  London  banker 
to  make  up  those  Hamburg  dividends.  He'll  send  you 

the  money  in  notes.  He  understands "  and  then 

he  got  rather  red.  "He  understands  that  I'm  prac- 
tically your  trustee,  Mrs.  Otway." 

"But,  Major  Guthrie — it  isn't  true!  How  could 
you  say  such  a  thing?" 

She  felt  confused,  unhappy,  surprised,  awkward, 
grateful.  Of  course  she  couldn't  take  this  man's 
money!  He  was  a  friend,  in  some  ways  a  very  close 
friend  of  hers,  but  she  hadn't  known  him  more  than 
four  years.  If  she  should  run  short  of  money,  why 
there  must  be  a  dozen  people  or  more  on  whose 
friendship  she  had  a  greater  claim,  and  who  could, 
and  would,  help  her. 


Good  Old  Anna  101 

And  then  Mary  Otway  suddenly  ran  over  in  secret 
review  her  large  circle  of  old  friends  and  acquaint- 
ances, and  she  realised,  with  a  shock  of  pain  and 
astonishment,  that  there  was  not  one  of  them  to  whom 
she  would  wish  to  go  for  help  in  that  kind  of  trouble. 
Of  her  wide  circle — and  like  most  people  of  her  class 
she  had  a  very  wide  circle — there  was  only  one  per- 
son, and  that  was  the  man  who  was  now  sitting  look- 
ing at  her  with  so  much  concern  in  his  eyes,  to  whom 
it  would  even  have  occurred  to  her  to  confess  that 
her  income  had  failed  through  her  foolish  belief  in  the 
stability,  and  the  peaceful  intentions,  of  Germany. 

Far,  far  quicker  than  it  would  have  taken  for  her 
to  utter  her  thoughts  aloud,  these  painful  thoughts 
and  realisations  flashed  through  her  brain.  If  she 
had  been  content  to  put  into  this  Hamburg  Loan 
only  the  amount  of  the  legacy  she  had  inherited  three 
years  ago!  But  she  had  done  more  than  that — she 
had  sold  out  sound  English  railway  stock  after  that 
interview  she  had  had  with  a  pleasant-speaking  Ger- 
man business  man  in  the  big  London  Hamburg  Loan 
office.  He  had  said  to  her,  "Madam,  this  is  the  op- 
portunity of  a  lifetime!"  And  she  had  believed  him. 
The  kind  German  friend  who  had  written  to  her  about 
the  matter  had  certainly  acted  in  good  faith.  Of  that 
she  could  rest  assured.  But  this  was  very  small  con- 
solation now. 

"So  you  see,  Mrs.  Otway,  that  it's  all  settled — been 
settled  over  your  head,  as  it  were.  And  you'll  oblige 
me,  you'll  make  me  feel  that  you're  really  treating 
me  as  a  friend,  if  you  say  nothing  more  about  it." 

And  then,  as  she  still  remained  silent,  and  as  Major 
Guthrie  could  see  by  the  expression  of  her  face  that 


IO2  Good  Old  Anna 

she  meant  to  refuse  what  he  so  generously  and  deli- 
cately offered  her,  he  went  on: 

"I  feel  now  that  I  ought  to  tell  you  something 
which  I  had  meant  to  keep  to  myself."  He  cleared 
his  throat — and  hum'd  and  hum'd  a  little.  "I'm  sure 
you'll  understand  that  every  sensible  man,  when  going 
on  active  service,  makes  a  fresh  will.  I've  already 
written  out  my  instructions  to  my  solicitor,  and  he 
will  prepare  a  will  for  me  to  sign  to-morrow."  He 
waited  a  moment,  and  then  added,  as  lightly  as  he 
could :  "I've  left  you  a  thousand  pounds,  which  I've 
arranged  you  should  receive  immediately  on  my  death. 
You  see,  I'm  a  lonely  man,  and  all  my  relations  are 
well  off.  I  think  you  know,  without  my  telling  out, 
that  I've  become  very  much  attached  to  you — to  you 
and  to  Miss  Rose." 

And  still  Mrs.  Otway  was  too  much  surprised,  and 
yes,  too  much  moved,  to  speak.  Major  Guthrie  was 
indeed  proving  himself  a  true  friend. 

"Under  ordinary  circumstances,"  he  went  on  slowly, 
"this  clause  in  my  will  would  be  of  very  little  practical 
interest  to  you,  for  I  am  a  healthy  man.  But  we're 

up  against  a  very  big  thing,  Mrs.  Otway "     He 

did  not  like  to  add  that  it  was  quite  possible  she  would 
receive  his  legacy  before  she  had  had  time  to  dip  very 
far  into  the  money  he  was  leaving  with  her. 

She  looked  at  him  with  a  troubled  look.  And  yet? 
And  yet,  though  it  was  not  perhaps  very  reasonable 
that  it  should  be  so,  somehow  she  did  feel  that  the 
fact  that  Major  Guthrie  was  leaving  her — and  Rose — 
the  legacy  of  which  he  spoke,  made  a  difference.  It 
would  make  it  easier,  that  is,  to  accept  the  money  that 
lay  there  on  her  table.  Though  Major  Guthrie  was 


Good  Old  Anna  103 

not,  in  the  technical  sense,  a  clever  man,  he  had  a 
far  more  intimate  knowledge  of  human  character  than 
had  his  friend. 

"I  don't  know  how  to  thank  you,"  she  said  at  last. 

He  answered  rather  sharply,  "I  don't  want  you  to 
thank  me.  And  Mrs.  Otway?  I  can  say  now  what 
I've  never  had  the  opportunity  of  saying,  that  is,  how 
much  I've  felt  honoured  by  your  friendship — what  a 
lot  it's  meant  to  me." 

He  said  the  words  in  a  rather  hard,  formal  voice, 
and  she  answered,  with  far  more  emotion  than  he  had 
betrayed,  "And  it's  been  a  very,  very  great  thing  for 
me,  too,  Major  Guthrie.  Do  please  believe  that!" 

He  bowed  his  head  gravely.  "Well,  I  must  be 
going  now,"  he  said,  a  little  heavily  and  sadly.  "Oh, 
and  one  thing  more — I  should  be  very  grateful  if 
you'd  go  and  see  my  mother  sometimes.  During  the 
last  few  days  hardly  a  soul's  been  near  her.  Of  course 
I  know  how  different  you  are  the  one  from  the  other, 

but  all  the  same "  he  hesitated  a  moment.     "My 

mother  has  fine  qualities,  once  you  get  under  that — 
well,  shall  I  call  it  that  London  veneer?  She  saw  a 
great  deal  of  the  world  after  she  became  a  widow, 
while  she  was  keeping  house  for  a  brother — when  I 
was  in  India.  She'd  like  to  see  Rose,  too" — uncon- 
sciously he  dropped  the  "Miss."  "She  likes  young 
people,  especially  pretty  girls." 

"Of  course  I'll  go  and  see  her,  and  so  will  Rose! 
You  know  I've  always  liked  Mrs.  Guthrie  better  than 
she  liked  me.  I'm  not  'smart'  enough  for  her." 
Mrs.  Otway  laughed  without  a  trace  of  bitterness. 
And  then  with  sudden  seriousness  she  asked  him  a 


104  Good  Old  Anna 

curious  question:  "How  long  d'you  think  you'll  be 
away  ?" 

"D'you  mean  how  long  do  I  think  the  War  will 
last?" 

Somehow  she  had  not  thought  of  her  question  quite 
in  that  sense.  "Yes:  I  suppose  that  is  what  I  do 
mean." 

"I  think  it  will  be  a  long  war.  It  will  certainly 
last  a  year — perhaps  a  good  deal  longer." 

He  walked  over  to  the  window  nearest  the  door. 
Standing  there,  he  told  himself  that  he  was  looking 
perhaps  for  the  last  time  on  the  dear,  familiar  scene 
before  him :  on  the  green  across  which  high  elms  now 
flung  their  short  morning  shadows;  on  the  encom- 
passing houses,  some  of  exceeding  stateliness  and 
beauty,  others  of  a  simpler,  less  distinguished  char- 
acter, yet  each  instinct  with  a  dignity  and  seemliness 
which  exquisitely  harmonised  it  with  its  finer  fellows ; 
and  finally  on  the  slender  Gothic  loveliness  of  the 
Cathedral. 

"I'm  trying  to  learn  this  view  by  heart,"  said  Major 
Guthrie,  in  a  queer,  muffled  voice.  "I've  always 
thought  it  the  most  beautiful  view  in  England — the 
one  that  stands  for  all  a  man  cares  for,  all  he  would 
fight  for." 

Mrs.  Otway  was  touched — touched  and  pleased  too. 
She  knew  that  her  friend  was  baring  to  her  a  very 
secret  chamber  of  his  heart. 

"It  is  a  beautiful,  peaceful  outlook,"  she  said 
quietly.  "I  was  thinking  so  not  long  before  you  came 
in — when  I  was  sitting  here,  reading  the  strange, 
dreadful  news  in  to-day's  paper." 

He  turned  away  from  the  window  and  looked  at 


Good  Old  Anna  105 

her.  She  saw  in  the  shadow  that  his  face  looked  grey 
and  strained.  "Major  Guthrie?"  she  began,  a  little 
shyly. 

"Yes?"  he  said  rather  quickly.  "Yes,  Mrs.  Ot- 
way?" 

"I  only  want  to  ask  if  you  would  like  me  to  write 
to  you  regularly  with  news  of  Mrs.  Guthrie  ?" 

"Will  you  really?  How  good  of  you;  I  didn't  like 
to  ask  you  to  do  that!  I  know  how  busy  you  always 
are."  But  he  still  lingered,  as  if  loth  to  go  away. 
Perhaps  he  was  waiting  on  in  the  hope  that  Rose  would 
come  in. 

"Do  you  know  where  you  will  land  in  France?" 
she  asked,  more  to  say  something  than  for  any  real 
reason,  for  she  knew  very  little  of  France. 

"I  am  not  sure,"  he  answered  hesitatingly.  And 
then,  "Still,  I  have  a  very  shrewd  idea  of  where  they 
are  going  to  fix  the  British  base.  I  think  it  will  be 
Boulogne.  But,  Mrs.  Otway?  Perhaps  I  ought  to 
tell  you  again  that  all  I've  told  you  to-day  is  private. 
I  may  count  on  your  discretion,  may  I  not?"  He 
looked  at  her  a  little  anxiously. 

"Of  course  I  won't  tell  any  one,"  she  said  quickly. 
"You  really  do  mean  not  any  one — not  even  the 
Dean?" 

"Yes,"  he  said.  "I  really  do  mean  not  any  one. 
In  fact  I  should  prefer  your  not  telling  even  Miss 
Rose." 

"Oh,  let  me  tell  Rose,"  she  said  eagerly.  "I  always 
tell  her  everything.  She  is  far  more  discreet  than  I 
am !"  And  this  was  true. 

"Well,  tell  Miss  Rose  and  no  one  else,"  he  said.    "I 


106  Good  Old  Anna 

don't  even  know  myself  when  I  am  going,  where  I  am 
going,  or  how  I  am  gomg." 

They  were  now  standing  in  the  hall. 

"Then  you  don't  expect  to  be  long  in  London?" 
she  said. 

"No.  I  should  think  I  shall  only  be  there  two  or 
three  days.  Of  course  I've  got  to  get  my  kit,  and  to 
see  people  at  the  War  Office,  and  so  on."  He  added 
in  a  low  voice,  "There's  not  going  to  be  any  repeti- 
tion of  the  things  that  went  on  at  the  time  of  the 
Boer  War — no  leave-takings,  no  regiments  marching 
through  the  streets.  It's  our  object,  so  I  understand, 
to  take  the  Germans  by  surprise.  Everything  is  going 
to  be  done  to  keep  the  fact  that  the  Expeditionary 
Force  is  going  to  France  a  secret  for  the  present.  I 
had  that  news  by  the  second  post;  an  old  friend  of 
mine  at  the  War  Office  wrote  to  me." 

He  gripped  her  hand  in  so  tight  a  clasp  that  it  hurt. 
Then  he  turned  the  handle  of  the  front  door,  opened 
it,  and  was  gone. 

Mrs.  Otway  felt  a  sudden  longing  for  sympathy. 
She  went  straight  into  the  kitchen.  "Anna!"  she 
exclaimed,  "Major  Guthrie  is  going  back  into  the 
Army!  England  is  sending  troops  over  to  the  Con- 
tinent to  help  the  Belgians!" 

"Ach!"  exclaimed  Anna.  "To  Ostend?"  She  had 
once  spent  a  summer  at  Ostend  in  a  boarding-house, 
where  she  had  been  hard-worked  and  starved.  Since 
then  she  had  always  hated  the  Belgians. 

"No,  no,"  said  Mrs.  Otway  quickly.  "Not  to  Os- 
tend. To  Boulogne,  in  France." 


CHAPTER  X 

F  N  the  early  morning  sunshine — for  it  was  only  a 
•*•  quarter-past  seven — Rose  Otway  stood  just  within 
the  wrought-iron  gate  of  the  Trellis  House. 

It  was  Saturday  in  the  first  week  of  war.  She 
had  got  up  very  early,  almost  as  early  as  old  Anna 
herself,  for,  waking  at  five,  she  had  found  it  impos- 
sible to  go  to  sleep  again. 

For  the  first  time  almost  in  her  life,  Rose  felt 
heavy-hearted.  The  sudden,  mysterious  departure  of 
Major  Guthrie  had  brought  the  War  very  near;  and 
so,  in  quite  another  way,  had  done  Lord  Kitchener's 
sudden,  trumpet-like  call,  for  a  hundred  thousand 
men.  She  knew  that,  in  response  to  that  call,  Jervis 
Blake  would  certainly  enlist,  if  not  with  the  approval, 
at  any  rate  with  the  reluctant  consent,  of  his  father; 
and  Rose  believed  that  this  would  mean  the  passing  of 
Jervis  out  of  her  life. 

To  Rose  Otway's  mind  there  was  something  slightly 
disgraceful  in  any  young  man's  enlistment  in  the 
British  Army.  The  poorer  mothers  of  Witanbury, 
those  among  whom  the  girl  and  her  kind  mother  did 
a  good  deal  of  visiting  and  helping  during  the  winter 
months,  were  apt  to  remain  silent  concerning  the  son 
who  was  a  soldier.  She  could  not  help  knowing  that 
it  was  too  often  the  bad  boy  of  the  family,  the  ne'er- 
do-weel,  who  enlisted.  There  were,  of  course,  certain 
exceptions — such,  for  instance,  as  when  a  lad  came  of 
a  fighting  family,  with  father,  uncles,  and  brothers  all 

107 


io8  Good  Old  Anna 

in  the  Army.  As  for  the  gentleman  ranker,  he  was 
always  a  scapegrace. 

Lord  Kitchener's  Hundred  Thousand  would  prob- 
ably be  drawn  from  a  different  class,  for  they  were 
being  directly  asked  to  defend  their  country.  But 
even  so,  at  the  thought  of  Jervis  Blake  becoming  a 
private,  Rose  Otway's  heart  contracted  with  pain,  and, 
yes,  with  vicarious  shame.  Still,  she  made  up  her 
mind,  there  and  then,  that  she  would  not  give  him  up, 
that  she  would  write  to  him  regularly,  and  that  as 
far  as  was  possible  they  would  remain  friends. 

How  comforted  she  would  have  been  could  an  angel 
have  come  and  told  her  with  what  eyes  England  was 
henceforth  to  regard  her  "common  soldiers."  . 

Rose  Otway  was  very  young,  and,  like  most  young 
things,  very  ignorant  of  life.  But  there  was,  as  Miss 
Forsyth  had  shrewdly  said,  a  great  deal  in  the  girl. 
Even  now  she  faced  life  steadily,  unhelped  by  the 
many  pleasant  illusions  cherished  by  her  mother.  Rose 
was  as  naturally  reserved  as  her  mother  was  naturally 
confiding,  and  Mrs.  Otway  was  therefore  far  more 
popular  in  their  little  world  than  her  daughter. 

Rose,  however,  was  very  pretty,  with  a  finished, 
delicately  fresh  and  aloof  type  of  beauty  which  was 
singularly  attractive  to  the  intelligent  and  fastidious. 
And  so  there  had  already  appeared,  striking  across  the 
current  of  their  placid  lives,  more  than  one  acute  ob- 
server who,  divining  certain  hidden  depths  of  feeling 
in  the  girl's  nature,  longed  to  probe  and  rouse  them. 
But  so  far  such  attempts,  generally  undertaken  by 
men  who  were  a  good  deal  older  than  Rose  Otway, 
had  failed  to  inspire  anything  but  shrinking  repug- 
nance in  their  object. 


Good  Old  Anna  109 

But  Jervis  Blake  was  different.  Jervis  she  had 
known  more  or  less  always,  owing  to  that  early  girlish 
friendship  between  his  mother  and  her  mother.  When 
he  had  come  to  "Robey's"  to  be  coached,  Mrs.  Otway 
had  made  him  free  of  her  house,  and  though  she  her- 
self, not  unnaturally,  did  not  find  him  an  interesting 
companion,  he  soon  had  become  part  of  the  warp  and 
woof  of  Rose's  young  life.  Like  most  only  children, 
she  had  always  longed  for  a  brother  or  a  sister;  and 
Jervis  was  the  nearest  possession  of  the  kind  to  which 
she  had  ever  attained. 

Yes,  the  War  was  coming  very  near  to  Rose  Otway, 
and  for  more  than  one  reason.  As  soon  as  she  got  up 
she  sat  down  and  wrote  a  long  letter  to  a  girl  friend 
who  was  engaged  to  a  naval  officer.  She  had  sud- 
denly realised  with  a  pang  that  this  girl,  of  whom  she 
was  really  fond,  must  now  be  feeling  very  miserable 
and  very  anxious.  Every  one  seemed  to  think  there 
would  soon  be  a  tremendous  battle  between  the  British 
and  the  German  fleets.  And  the  Dean,  who  had  been 
to  Kiel  last  year,  believed  that  the  German  sailors 
would  give  a  very  good  account  of  themselves. 

The  daily  papers  were  delivered  very  early  in  Witan- 
bury  Close.  And  after  she  had  helped  old  Anna  as 
far  as  Anna  would  allow  herself  to  be  helped  in  the 
light  housework  with  which  she  began  each  day,  Rose 
went  out  and  stood  by  the  gate.  She  longed  to  know 
what  news,  if  any,  there  was. 

But  the  moments  went  slowly  by,  and  with  the  ex- 
ception of  a  milk  cart  which  clattered  gaily  along, 
the  Close  remained  deserted.  Half -past  seven  in  the 
morning,  even  on  a  fine  August  day,  saw  a  good  many 


no  Good  Old  Anna 

people  still  in  bed  in  an  English  country  town.  To-day 
Rose  Otway,  having  herself  risen  so  early,  was  inclined 
to  agree  with  Anna  that  English  people  are  very  lazy, 
and  lose  some  of  the  best  part  of  each  morning. 

And  then,  as  she  stood  out  there  in  the  sunshine, 
her  mind  reverted  to  Major  Guthrie  and  to  his  sud- 
den disappearance.  Rose  liked  Major  Guthrie,  and 
she  was  sorry  she  had  missed  him  yesterday  morning, 
when  out  on  her  fruitless  quest  for  money. 

Rose  had  been  surprised  at  the  way  her  mother  had 
spoken  of  Major  Guthrie's  departure.  Mrs.  Otway 
had  declared  the  fact  to  be  a  secret — a  secret  that 
must  at  all  costs  be  kept.  As  a  matter  of  fact  the 
girl  had  already  heard  the  news  from  Anna,  and  she 
had  observed,  smiling,  "But,  mother,  you  seem  to 
have  told  Anna  all  about  it?"  And  Mrs.  Otway,  her 
gentle  temper  for  once  ruffled,  had  answered  sharply, 
"I  don't  count  Anna!  Major  Guthrie  particularly 
mentioned  the  Dean.  He  did  not  wish  the  Dean  to 
know.  He  said  his  going  was  to  be  kept  secret.  So  I 
beg  you,  Rose,  to  do  as  I  ask." 

Anna  came  out  of  the  front  door,  and  began  polish- 
ing the  brass  knob.  "Ach!"  she  exclaimed.  "Come 
in,  child — do!  You  a  chill  will  take.  If  it  is  the  post- 
man you  want,  he  gone  by  already  has." 

Rose  smiled.  Dear  old  Anna  had  never  acquired 
the  British  love  of  fresh  air.  "I'm  waiting  for  the 
papers,"  she  said.  "I  can't  think  why  the  man  doesn't 
begin  with  us,  instead  of  going  all  round  the  other 
way  first !  But  I'm  going  to  catch  him  this  morning." 

And  Anna,  grumbling,  went  back  into  the  house 
again. 


Good  Old  Anna  in 

All  at  once  Rose  heard  the  sound  of  quick  foot- 
steps to  her  right,  on  the  path  outside.  She  moved 
back  into  the  paved  court  in  front  of  the  Trellis  House, 
and  stood,  a  charming  vision  of  youth  and  freshness, 
in  her  pale  mauve  cotton  frock,  by  a  huge  stone  jar 
filled  with  pink  geraniums. 

And  then,  a  moment  later,  the  tall  figure  of  Jervis 
Blake  suddenly  swung  into  view.  He  was  very  pale, 
and  there  was  an  eager,  absorbed,  strained  look  on  his 
face.  In  his  hand  was  a  white  telegraph  form. 

Rose  ran  forward,  and  once  more  opened  the  gate. 
"Jervis!"  she  cried.  ''What  is  it?  What's  the  mat- 
ter? Have  you  had  bad  news  from  home?" 

He  shook  his  head,  and  she  saw  that  he  was  trying 
to  smile.  But  there  was  still  that  on  his  face  which 
she  had  never  seen  before — a  rapt,  transfigured  look 
which  made  her  feel — and  she  both  disliked  and  re- 
sented the  feeling — as  if  he  were,  for  the  moment, 
remote  from  herself.  But  he  stayed  his  steps,  and 
came  through  the  gate. 

For  a  moment  he  stood  opposite  to  her  without 
speaking.  Then  he  took  out  of  his  breast  pocket  a 
large  sheet  of  notepaper  folded  in  four.  He  opened 
it,  and  held  it  out  to  her.  It  was  headed  "War  Office, 
Whitehall,  London,"  and  in  it  Jervis  Blake,  Esquire, 
was  curtly  informed  that,  if  he  still  desired  to  enter 
the  Army,  he  was  at  liberty  to  apply  for  a  commission. 
But  in  that  case  he  was  asked  to  report  himself  as 
soon  as  possible. 

Rose  read  the  cold,  formal  sentences  again  and 
again,  and  a  lump  rose  to  her  throat.  How  glad  she 
was!  How  very,  very  glad!  Indeed,  her  gladness, 
her  joy  in  Jervis's  joy,  surprised  herself. 


H2  Good  Old  Anna 

"And  it's  all  owing  to  you,"  he  exclaimed  in  a  low 
voice,  "that  I  didn't  go  and  make  an  ass  of  myself  on 
Wednesday.  If  it  hadn't  been  for  you,  Rose,  I  should 
have  enlisted.  This  would  have  come  too  late.  It  is 
luck  to  have  seen  you  now,  like  this.  You're  the  very 
first  I've  told."  He  was  wringing  her  hand,  his  face 
now  as  flushed  as  it  had  been  pale. 

And  as  they  stood  there  together,  Rose  suddenly 
became  aware  that  Anna,  at  the  kitchen  window,  was 
looking  out  at  them  both  with  a  rather  peculiar  ex- 
pression on  her  emotional  German  face. 

A  feeling  of  annoyance  swept  over  the  girl;  she 
knew  that  to  her  old  nurse  every  young  man  who 
ever  came  to  the  Trellis  House  was  a  potential  lover. 
But  even  Anna  might  have  left  Jervis  Blake  out  of  the 
category.  There  was  nothing  silly  or — or  sentimental, 
in  the  real,  deep  friendship  they  two  felt  for  one 
another. 

And  then  Rose  did  something  which  surprised  her- 
self. Withdrawing  her  hand  from  his,  she  exclaimed, 
"I'll  walk  with  you  to  the  corner" — and  led  the  way 
out,  through  the  gate,  and  so  along  the  empty  road- 
way. 

They  walked  along  in  silence  for  a  few  moments. 
The  Close  was  still  deserted.  Across  the  green,  to 
their  right,  rose  the  noble  grey  mass  of  the  Cathedral. 
In  many  of  the  houses  the  blinds  were  even  now  only 
beginning  to  be  pulled  up. 

"I  rather  expected  yesterday  that  you  would  come 
in  and  tell  me  that  you  were  going  off  to  be  one  of 
the  hundred  thousand  men  Lord  Kitchener  has  asked 
for,"  she  said  at  last. 

"Of  course  I  meant  to  be,  but  Mr.  Robey  thought 


Good  Old  Anna  113 

I  ought  to  communicate  with  my  father  before  actu- 
ally joining,"  he  answered.  "In  fact,  I  had  already 
written  home.  That's  one  reason  why  I'm  going  to 
get  this  wire  off  so  early." 

"I  suppose  you'll  be  at  Sandhurst  this  time  next 
week?" 

And  he  frowned,  for  the  first  time  that  morning. 

"Oh  no,  I  hope  not!  Mr.  Robey  heard  last  night 
from  one  of  our  fellows — one  of  those  who  passed 
last  time — and  he  said  he  was  being  drafted  at  once 
into  a  regiment!  You  mustn't  forget  how  long  I 
was  in  the  O.T.C.  It  seems  they're  sending  all  those 
who  were  in  the  O.T.C.  straight  into  regiments." 

"Then  by  next  week  you'll  be  second  lieutenant  in 
the  Wessex  Light  Infantry!"  she  exclaimed.  She 
knew  that  it  was  in  that  famous  regiment  that  General 
Blake  had  won  his  early  spurs,  and  that  it  had  been 
settled,  in  the  days  when  no  one  had  doubted  Jervis 
Blake's  ability  to  pass  the  Army  Exam.,  that  he  would 
join  his  father's  old  regiment,  now  commanded  by  one 
of  that  father's  very  few  intimates. 

"Yes,  I  suppose  I  shall,"  he  said,  flushing.  "Oh, 
Rose,  I  can't  believe  in  my  luck.  It's  so  much — much 
too  good  to  be  true !" 

They  had  come  to  the  corner,  to  the  parting  of  their 
ways.  To  the  left,  through  the  grey  stone  gateway, 
was  the  street  leading  into  the  town;  on  the  right, 
within  a  few  moments'  walk,  the  Cathedral. 

Rose  suddenly  felt  very  much  moved,  carried  out  of 
her  reserved  self.  A  lump  rose  to  her  throat.  She 
knew  that  this  was  their  real  parting,  and  that  she 
was  not  likely  to  see  him  again,  save  in  the  presence 
of  her  mother  for  a  few  minutes. 


ii4  Good  Old  Anna 

"I  wonder,"  said  Jervis  Blake  hoarsely,  "I  wonder, 
Rose,  if  you  would  do  me  a  great  kindness?  Would 
you  go  on  into  the  Cathedral  with  me,  just  for  three  or 
four  minutes?  I  should  like  to  go  there  for  the  last 
time  with  you." 

"Yes,"  she  said;  "of  course  I  will."  Rose  had 
inherited  something  of  her  mother's  generosity  of 
nature.  If  she  gave  at  all,  she  gave  freely  and  gladly. 
"I  do  hope  the  door  will  be  open,"  she  said,  trying 
to  regain  her  usual  staid  composure.  She  was  sur- 
prised and  disturbed  by  the  pain  which  seemed  to  be 
rising,  brimming  over,  in  her  heart. 

They  walked  on  in  silence.  Jervis  Blake  was  looking 
straight  before  him,  his  face  set  and  grim.  He  was 
telling  himself  that  a  fellow  would  be  a  cur  to  take 
advantage  of  such  a  moment  to  say  anything,  and  that 
especially  was  that  the  case  with  one  who  might  so 
soon  be  exposed  to  something  much  worse  than  death 
— such  as  the  being  blinded,  the  being  maimed,  for 
life.  War  was  a  very  real  thing  to  Jervis,  more  real 
certainly  than  to  any  other  one  of  the  young  men 
who  had  been  his  comrades  at  Robey's  during  the  last 
two  years. 

But  the  most  insidious  of  all  tempters,  Nature  her- 
self, whispered  in  his  ear,  "Why  not  simply  tell  her 
that  you  love  her?  No  woman  minds  being  told  that 
she  is  loved!  It  can  do  no  harm,  and  it  will  make 
her  think  of  you  kindly  when  you  are  far  away.  This 
strange,  secret  meeting  is  yet  another  piece  of  good 
fortune  to-day — this  glorious  day — has  brought  you! 
Do  not  throw  away  your  chance.  Look  again  down 
into  her  face.  See  her  dear  eyes  full  of  tears.  She 


Good  Old  Anna  115 

has  never  been  moved  as  she  is  moved  to-day,  and  it 
is  you  who  have  moved  her." 

And  then  another,  sterner  voice  spoke :  "You  have 
not  moved  her — presumptuous  fool!  Nay,  it  is  the 
thought  of  England,  of  her  country,  of  all  you  stand 
for  to-day,  that  has  moved  her.  And  the  next  few 
minutes  will  show  the  stuff  of  which  you  are  made — 
if  you  have  the  discipline,  the  self-restraint,  essential 
to  the  man  who  has  to  lead  others,  or  if — if  you  only 
have  the  other  thing.  You  are  being  given  now  what 
you  could  never  have  hoped  for,  a  quiet,  intimate  time 
with  her  alone;  you  might  have  had  to  say  good-bye 
to  her  in  her  mother's  presence — that  mother  who  has 
never  really  liked  you,  and  whom  you  have  never  really 
liked." 

He  held  open  the  little  wicket  gate  for  her  to  pass 
through.  They  walked  up  the  stone  path  to  the  wide, 
hospitable-looking  porch  which  is  the  only  part  of 
VVitanbury  Cathedral  that  has  remained  much  as  it 
was  in  pre-Re formation  days. 

To  Jervis  Blake,  suffused  with  poignant  emotion, 
every  perception  sharpened  by  mingling  triumph  and 
pain,  the  "faire  Doore"  of  Witanbury  Cathedral  had 
never  seemed  so  lovely  as  on  this  still  August  morning. 
As  they  stepped  through  the  exquisite  outer  doorway, 
with  its  deep  mouldings,  both  dog-toothed  and  foliated, 
marking  the  transition  from  Norman  to  Gothic,  a 
deep,  intense  joy  in  their  dual  solitude  suddenly  rose 
up  in  his  heart  like  a  white  flame. 

The  interior  of  the  porch  was  little  larger  than  an 
ordinary  room,  but  it  was  wonderfully  perfect  in  the 
harmony  of  its  proportions;  and  even  Rose,  less  per- 
ceptive than  her  companion,  and  troubled  and  dis- 


u6  Good  Old  Anna 

turbed,  rather  than  uplifted,  by  an  emotion  to  which 
she  had  no  clue,  was  moved  by  the  delicate,  shadowed 
beauty  of  the  grey  walls  and  vaulted  roof  now  encom- 
passing her. 

For  a  moment  they  both  lingered  there,  irresolute; 
and  then  Jervis,  stepping  forward,  lifted  the  great 
iron  handle  of  the  black  oak,  nail-studded  door.  But 
the  door  remained  shut,  and  he  turned  round  with  the 
words,  "It's  still  closed.  We  shan't  be  able  to  get  in. 
I'm  sorry."  He  looked  indeed  so  disappointed  that 
there  came  over  Rose  the  eager  determination  that  he 
should  not  go  away  baulked  of  his  wish. 

"I'm  sure  it  opens  at  eight,"  she  exclaimed;  "and 
it  can't  be  very  far  from  eight  now.  Let's  wait  here 
the  few  minutes!  I'm  in  no  hurry,  if  you  can  spare 
the  time?"  Rose  spoke  rather  quickly  and  breath- 
lessly. She  was  trying  hard  to  behave  as  if  this  little 
adventure  of  theirs  was  a  very  conventional,  common- 
place happening. 

He  said  something — she  was  not  sure  whether  it 
was  "All  right"  or  "Very  well." 

On  each  side  of  the  porch  ran  a  low  and  deep  stone 
bench,  from  which  sprang  the  slender  columns  which 
seemed  to  climb  eagerly  upwards  to  the  carved  ribs 
of  the  vaulted  roof.  But  they  both  went  on  standing 
close  to  one  another,  companioned  only  by  the  strange 
sculptured  creatures  which  grinned  down  from  the 
spandrels  of  the  arches  above. 

And  then,  after  waiting  for  what  seemed  an  eternity 
— it  was  really  hardly  more  than  a  minute — in  the 
deep,  brooding  silence  which  seemed  to  enwrap  the 
Close,  the  Cathedral,  and  their  own  two  selves  in  a 
mantle  of  stillness,  Rose  Otway,  bursting  into  sobs, 


Good  Old  Anna  117 

made  a  little  swaying  movement.  A  moment  later 
she  found  herself  in  Jervis  Blake's  arms,  listening  with 
a  strange  mingling  of  joy,  surprise,  shame,  and,  yes, 
triumph,  to  his  broken,  hoarsely-whispered  words  of 
love. 

He,  being  a  man,  could  only  feel — she,  being  a 
woman,  could  also  think,  aye,  and  even  question  her 
own  heart  as  to  this  amazing  thing  which  was  hap- 
pening, and  which  had  suddenly  made  her  free  of  the 
wonderful  kingdom  of  romance  of  which  she  had  so 
often  heard,  but  the  existence  of  which  she  had  always 
secretly  doubted.  Whence  came  her  instinctive  response 
to  his  pleading:  "Oh,  Rose,  let  me  kiss  you!  Oh, 
Rose,  my  darling  little  love,  this  may  be  the  last  time 
I  shall  see  you!" 

Was  it  at  the  end  of  a  moment,  or  of  an  aeon  of 
time,  that  there  fell  athwart  their  beating  hearts  a 
dull,  rasping  sound,  that  of  the  two  great  inner  bolts 
of  the  huge  oak  door  being  pushed  back  into  their 
rusty  sockets? 

They  parted,  reluctantly,  lingeringly,  the  one  from 
the  other;  but  whoever  had  drawn  back  the  bolts  did 
not  open  the  door,  and  soon  they  heard  the  sounds 
of  heavy,  shuffling  feet  moving  slowly  away. 

"I  expect  it's  Mrs.  Bent,  the  verger's  wife,"  said 
Rose,  in  a  low,  trembling  voice. 

Jervis  looked  at  her.  There  was  a  mute,  and  at 
once  imperious  and  imploring  demand  in  his  eyes. 
But  Rose  had  stepped  across  the  magic  barrier,  she 
was  half-way  back  to  the  work-a-day  world — not  very 
far,  but  still  far  enough  to  know  how  she  would  feel 


n8  Good  Old  Anna 

if  Bent  or  Mrs.  Bent  surprised  her  in  Jervis's  arms. 
A  few  moments  ago  she  would  hardly  have  cared. 

"Let's  go  into  the  Cathedral  now,"  she  said,  and, 
to  break  the  cruelty  of  her  silent  refusal  of  what  he 
asked,  she  held  out  her  hand.  To  her  surprise,  and 
yes,  her  disappointment,  he  did  not  seem  to  see  it. 
Instead,  he  stepped  forward  to  the  door,  and  turning 
the  weighty  iron  handle,  pushed  it  widely  open. 

Together,  side  by  side,  they  passed  through  into  the 
great,  still,  peaceful  place,  and  with  a  delicious  feeling 
of  joy  they  saw  that  they  were  alone — that  Mrs.  Bent, 
having  done  her  duty  in  unbolting  the  great  door,  had 
slipt  out  of  a  side  door,  and  gone  back  to  her  cottage, 
behind  the  Cathedral. 

Rose  led  the  way  into  the  nave;  there  she  knelt 
down,  and  Jervis  Blake  knelt  down  by  her,  and  this 
time,  when  she  put  out  her  hand,  he  took  it  in  his 
and  clasped  it  closely. 

Rose  tried  to  collect  her  thoughts.  She  even  tried 
to  pray.  But  she  could  only  feel, — she  could  not  utter 
the  supplications  which  rilled  her  troubled  heart.  And 
yet  she  felt  as  though  they  two  were  encompassed  by 
holy  presences,  by  happy  spirits,  who  understood  and 
sympathised  in  her  mingled  joy  and  grief. 

If  Jervis  came  back,  if  he  and  she  both  lived  till 
the  end  of  the  War,  it  was  here  that  their  marriage 
would  take  place.  But  the  girl  had  a  strange  pre- 
sentiment that  they  two  would  never  stand  over 
there,  where  so  many  brides  and  bridegrooms  had  stood 
together,  even  within  her  short  memory.  It  was  not 
that  she  felt  Jervis  was  going  to  be  killed — she  was 
mercifully  spared  those  dread  imaginings  which  were 
to  come  on  her  later.  But  just  now,  for  these  few 


Good  Old  Anna  119 

moments  only  perhaps,  Rose  Otway  was  "fey";  she 
seemed  to  know  that  to-day  was  her  cathedral  mar- 
riage day,  and  that  an  invisible  choir  was  singing  her 
epithalamium. 

The  quarter  past  the  hour  chimed.  She  released 
her  hand  from  his,  and  touched  him  on  the  arm  with 
a  lingering,  caressing  touch.  He  was  so  big  and 
strong,  so  gentle  too — all  hers.  And  now,  just  as  they 
had  found  one  another,  she  was  going  to  lose  him.  It 
seemed  so  unnatural  and  so  cruel.  "Jervis,"  she 
whispered,  and  the  tears  ran  down  her  face,  "I  think 
you  had  better  go  now.  I'd  rather  we  said  good-bye 
here." 

He  got  up  at  once.  "Do  you  mean  to  tell  your 
mother?"  he  asked.  And  then,  as  he  thought  she 
was  hesitating:  "I  only  want  to  know  because,  if  so, 
I  will  tell  them  at  home." 

She  shook  her  head.  "No,"  she  said  brokenly. 
"I'd  rather  we  said  nothing  now — if  you  don't  mind." 

She  lifted  up  her  face  to  him  as  a  child  might  have 
done;  and,  putting  his  arm  round  her,  he  bent  down 
and  kissed  her,  very  simply  and  gravely.  Suddenly, 
he  took  her  two  hands  and  kissed  their  soft  palms; 
and  then  he  stooped  very  low,  and  lifting  the  hem 
of  her  cotton  frock  kissed  that  too. 

"Rose?"  he  cried  out  suddenly.  "Oh,  Rose,  I  do 
love  you  so!"  And  then,  before  she  could  speak  he 
had  turned  and  was  gone. 


CHAPTER  XI 

RATHER  more  than  an  hour  and  a  half  later,  Rose 
Otway,  with  bursting  heart,  but  with  dry,  gleam- 
ing eyes — for  she  had  a  nervous  fear  of  her  mother's 
affectionate  questioning,  and  she  had  already  endured 
Anna's  well-meant,  fussy,  though  still  unspoken  sym- 
pathy— stood  at  the  spare-room  window  of  the  Trellis 
House.  From  there  she  could  watch,  undisturbed, 
the  signs  of  departure  now  going  busily  on  before  the 
big  gates  of  the  group  of  three  Georgian  houses  known 
as  "Robey's." 

Piles  of  luggage,  bags,  suit-cases,  golf  sticks,  and 
so  on,  were  being  put  outside  and  inside  the  mid- 
Victorian  fly,  which  was  still  patronised  by  the  young 
gentlemen  of  "Robey's,"  in  their  goings  and  comings 
from  the  station.  And  then,  even  before  the  old  cab- 
horse  had  started  his  ambling  trot  townwards,  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Robey,  their  two  little  girls,  and  their  three 
boys  not  long  back  from  school,  all  appeared  together 
at  the  gate. 

In  their  midst  stood  Jervis  Blake,  his  tall  figure 
towering  above  them  all. 

Most  young  men  would  have  felt,  and  perhaps  a 
little  resented  the  fact,  that  the  whole  party  looked 
slightly  ridiculous.  Not  so  this  young  man.  There 
had  never  been  much  of  the  schoolboy  in  Jervis  Blake. 
Now  he  felt  very  much  a  man,  and  he  was  grateful 
for  the  affectionate  kindness  which  made  these  good 

120 


Good  Old  Anna  121* 

people  anxious  to  give  him  what  one  of  the  little  girls 
had  called  "a  grand  send-off." 

Rose  saw  that  there  was  a  moment  of  confusion,  of 
hesitation  at  the  gate,  and  she  divined  that  it  was 
Jervis  who  suggested  that  they  should  take  the  rather 
longer  way  round,  that  which  led  under  the  elm  trees 
and  past  the  Cathedral.  He  did  not  wish  to  pass  close 
by  the  Trellis  House. 

The  girl  standing  by  the  window  felt  a  sudden  rush 
of  understanding  tenderness.  How  strangely,  how 
wonderfully  their  minds  worked  the  one  in  with  the 
other !  It  would  have  been  as  intolerable  to  her  as  to 
him,  to  have  seen  her  mother  run  out  and  stop  the 
little  party — to  have  been  perchance  summoned  from 
upstairs  "to  wish  good  luck  to  Jervis  Blake." 

From  where  she  stood  Rose  Otway  commanded  the 
whole  Close,  and  during  the  minutes  which  followed 
she  saw  the  group  of  people  walking  with  quick,  steady 
steps,  stopped  by  passers-by  three  or  four  times,  be- 
fore they  disappeared  out  of  her  sight. 

It  had  seemed  to  her,  but  that  might  have  been 
only  her  fancy,  that  the  pace,  obviously  set  by  Jervis, 
quickened  rather  as  they  swept  past  the  little  gate 
through  which  he  and  she  had  gone  on  their  way  to 
the  porch,  on  their  way  to — to  Paradise. 

Half-way  through  the  morning  there  came  an  un- 
certain knock  at  the  front  door  of  the  Trellis  House. 
It  presaged  a  note  brought  by  one  of  the  young 
Robeys  for  Mrs.  Otway — a  note  written  by  Jervis 
Blake,  telling  her  of  his  good  fortune,  and  explaining 
that  he  had  not  time  to  come  and  thank  her  in  person 
for  all  her  many  kindnesses  to  him.  One  sentence 


122  Good  Old  Anna 

ran :  "The  War  Office  order  is  that  I  come  and  report 
myself  as  soon  as  possible — so  of  course  I  had  to  take 
the  ten-twenty-five  train."  And  he  signed  himself,  as 
he  had  never  done  before,  "Your  affectionate  JERVIS 
BLAKE." 

Mrs.  Otway  felt  mildly  excited,  and  really  pleased. 
"Rose  will  be  very  glad  to  hear  this!"  she  said  to 
herself,  and  at  once  sought  out  her  daughter. 

Rose  was  still  upstairs,  in  the  roomy,  rather  dark' 
old  linen  cupboard  which  was  the  pride  of  Anna's 
German  heart. 

"A  most  extraordinary  thing  has  happened.  Jervis 
Blake  is  to  have  a  commission  after  all,  darling!  He 
had  a  letter  from  the  War  Office  this  morning.  I 
suppose  it's  due  to  his  father's  influence."  And  as 
Rose  answered,  in  what  seemed  an  indifferent  voice, 
"I  should  think,  mother,  that  it's  due  to  the  War," 
Mrs.  Otway  exclaimed,  "Oh  no.  I  don't  think  so! 
What  could  the  War  have  to  do  with  it?  But  what- 
ever it's  due  to,  I'm  very,  very  pleased  that  the  poor 
boy  has  attained  the  wish  of  his  heart.  He's  written 
me  such  a  very  nice  note,  apologising  for  not  coming 
to  say  good-bye  to  us.  He  doesn't  mention  you  in 
his  letter,  but  I  expect  you'll  hear  from  him  in  a  day 
or  two.  He  generally  does  write  during  the  holidays, 
doesn't  he,  Rose?" 

"Yes,"  said  Rose  quietly.  "Jervis  has  always  writ- 
ten to  me  during  the  holidays,  up  to  now." 

As  she  spoke,  the  girl  turned  again  to  the  shelves 
laden  with  the  linen,  much  of  which  had  been  beauti- 
fully embroidered  and  trimmed  with  crochet  lace  by 
good  old  Anna's  clever  hands.  Mrs.  Otway  had  a 
curious  sensation,  one  she  very,  very  seldom  had— 


Good  Old  Anna  123 

that  of  being  dismissed.  Somehow  it  was  clear  that 
Rose  was  not  as  interested  in  the  piece  of  good  news 
as  her  mother  had  thought  she  would  be.  And  so 
Mrs.  Otway  went  downstairs  again,  grieving  a  little 
at  her  child's  curious,  cold  indifference  to  the  lot  of 
one  who  had  been  so  much  in  and  out  of  their  house 
during  the  last  two  years. 

Eager  for  sympathy,  she  went  into  the  kitchen. 
"Oh,  Anna,"  she  exclaimed,  "Mr.  Blake  is  going 
into  the  Army  after  all!  I'm  so  pleased.  He  is  so 
happy !" 

"Far  more  than  Major  Guthrie  young  Mr.  Blake 
the  figure  of  a  good  officer  has,"  observed  Anna 
thoughtfully.  Anna  had  always  liked  Jervis  Blake. 
In  the  old  days  that  now  seemed  so  long  ago  he  would 
sometimes  come  with  Miss  Rose  into  her  kitchen, 
and  talk  his  poor,  indifferent  German.  Then  they 
all  three  used  to  laugh  heartily  at  the  absurd  mistakes 
he  made. 

And  now,  to  her  mistress's  astonishment,  old  Anna 
suddenly  burst  into  loud,  noisy  sobs. 

"Anna,  what  is  the  matter?" 

"Afflicted  I  am "  sobbed  the  old  woman.  And 

then  she  stopped,  and  began  again:  "Afflicted  I  am 
to  think,  gracious  lady,  of  that  young  gentleman, 
who  to  me  kind  has  been,  killing  the  soldiers  of  my 
country." 

"I  don't  suppose  he  will  have  the  chance  of  killing 
any  of  them,"  said  Mrs.  Otway  hastily.  "You  really 
mustn't  be  so  silly,  Anna !  Why,  the  War  will  be  over 
long  before  Mr.  Blake  is  ready  to  go  out.  They  always 
keep  the  young  men  two  years  at  Sandhurst.  That's 
the  name  of  the  officers'  training  college,  you  know." 


124  Good  Old  Anna 

Anna  wiped  her  eyes  with  her  apron.  She  was  now 
ashamed  of  having  cried.  But  it  had  come  over  her 
"all  of  a  heap,"  as  an  English  person  would  have 
said. 

She  had  had  a  sort  of  vision  of  that  nice  young 
gentleman,  Mr.  Jervis  Blake,  in  the  thick  of  battle, 
cutting  down  German  men  and  youths  with  a  sword. 
He  was  so  big  and  strong — it  made  her  turn  sick  to 
think  of  it.  But  her  good  mistress,  Mrs.  Otway,  had 
of  course  told  the  truth.  The  War  would  be  over 
long  before  Mr.  Jervis  Blake  and  his  kind  would  be 
fit  to  fight. 

Fighting,  as  old  Anna  knew  well,  though  most 
of  the  people  about  her  were  ignorant  of  the  fact, 
requires  a  certain  apprenticeship,  an  apprenticeship 
of  which  these  pleasant-spoken,  strong,  straight- 
limbed  young  Englishmen  knew  nothing.  The  splen- 
didly trained  soldiers  of  the  Fatherland  would  have 
fought  and  conquered  long  before  peaceful,  sleepy 
England  knew  what  war  really  meant.  There  was 
great  comfort  in  that  thought. 

As  that  second  Saturday  of  August  wore  itself 
away,  it  is  not  too  much  to  say  that  the  most  inter- 
esting thing  connected  with  the  War  which  had  hap- 
pened in  Witanbury  Close  was  the  fact  that  Jervis 
Blake  was  now  going  to  be  a  soldier.  When  people 
met  that  day,  coming  and  going  about  their  business, 
across  the  lawn-like  green,  and  along  the  well-kept 
road  which  ran  round  it,  they  did  not  discuss  the  little 
news  there  was  in  that  morning's  papers.  Instead  they 
at  once  informed  one  another,  and  with  a  most  con- 
gratulatory air,  "Jervis  Blake  has  heard  from  the  War 


Good  Old  Anna  125 

Office !  He  is  going  into  the  Army  after  all.  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Robey  are  so  pleased.  The  whole  family  went 
to  the  station  with  him  this  morning!" 

And  it  was  quite  true  that  the  Robeys  were  pleased. 
Mr.  Robey  was  positively  triumphant.  "I  can't  tell 
you  how  glad  I  am!"  he  said,  first  to  one,  and  then 
to  the  other,  of  his  neighbours.  "Young  Blake  will 
make  a  splendid  company  officer.  It's  for  the  sake 
of  the  country,  quite  as  much  as  for  his  sake,  and  for 
that  of  his  unpleasant  father,  that  I'm  glad.  What 
sort  of  book-learning  had  Napoleon's  marshals?  Or, 
for  the  matter  of  that,  Wellington's  officers  in  the 
Peninsula,  and  at  Waterloo?" 

As  the  day  went  on,  and  he  began  receiving  tele- 
grams from  those  of  his  young  men — they  were  not 
so  very  many  after  all — who  had  failed  to  pass,  con- 
taining the  joyful  news  that  now  they  were  accepted, 
his  wife,  instead  of  rejoicing,  began  to  look  grave. 
"It  seems  to  me,  my  dear,  that  our  occupation  in 
life  will  now  be  gone,"  she  said  soberly.  And  he 
answered  lightly  enough,  "Sufficient  unto  the  day 
is  the  good  thereof!"  And  being  the  high-minded, 
sensible  fellow  that  he  was,  he  would  allow  no  selfish 
fear  of  the  future  to  cloud  his  satisfaction  in  the 
present. 

The  only  jarring  note  that  day  came  from  James 
Hayley.  He  had  had  to  take  a  later  train  than  he 
had  thought  to  do,  and  he  only  arrived  at  the  Trellis 
House,  duly  dressed  for  dinner,  just  before  eight. 

"Witanbury  is  certainly  a  most  amusing  place,"  he 
observed,  as  he  shook  hands  with  his  pretty  cousin. 
"I  met  two  of  your  neighbours  as  I  came  along.  Each 


126  Good  Old  Anna 

of  them  informed  me,  with  an  air  of  extreme  delight, 
that  young  Jervis  Blake  had  heard  from  the  War 
Office  that,  in  spite  of  his  many  failures,  his  services 
will  now  be  welcomed  by  a  grateful  country.  I  didn't 
like  to  make  the  obvious  answer " 

"And  what  is  the  obvious  answer?"  asked  Rose, 
wrenching  her  hand  away  from  his.  She  told  her- 
self that  she  hated  the  feel  of  James's  cold,  hard 
hand. 

"That  we  must  be  jolly  short  of  officers  if  they're 
already  writing  round  to  those  boys!  But  then,  of 
course" — he  lowered  his  voice,  though  there  was  no 
one  there  to  hear,  "we  are  short — short  of  everything, 
worse  luck!" 

But  that  was  the  only  thing  Cousin  James  said  of 
any  interest,  and  it  did  not  specially  interest  Rose. 
She  did  not  connect  this  sinister  little  piece  of  infor- 
mation with  the  matter  that  rilled  her  heart  for  the 
moment  to  the  exclusion  of  everything  else.  It  was 
not  Jervis  who  was  short  of  anything — only  Jervis's 
(and  her)  country. 

After  Mrs.  Otway  had  come  down  and  joined  them, 
though  James  talked  a  great  deal,  he  yet  said  very 
little,  and  as  the  evening  went  on,  his  kind  hostess 
could  not  help  feeling  that  the  War  had  not  improved 
James  Hayley.  He  seemed  more  supercilious,  more 
dogmatic  than  usual,  and  at  one  moment  he  threat- 
ened to  offend  her  gravely  by  an  unfortunate  allusion 
to  her  good  old  Anna's  nationality. 

By  that  time  they  were  sitting  out  in  the  garden, 
enjoying  the  excellent  coffee  Anna  made  so  well,  and 
as  it  was  rather  chilly,  Rose  had  run  into  the  house  to 
get  her  mother  a  shawl. 


Good  Old  Anna  127 

"I  never  realised  how  very  German  your  maid  is," 
he  observed  suddenly.  "It  made  me  feel  quite  un- 
comfortable while  we  were  talking  at  dinner!  Do 
you  intend  to  keep  her?" 

"Yes,  of  course  I  do."  Mrs.  Otway  felt  hurt  and 
angry.  "I  shouldn't  dream  of  sending  her  away! 
Anna  has  lived  in  England  over  twenty  years,  and  her 
only  child  is  married  to  an  Englishman."  She  waited 
a  moment,  and  as  he  said  nothing,  she  went  on :  "My 
good  old  Anna  is  devoted  to  England,  though  of 
course  she  loves  her  Fatherland  too." 

"I  should  have  thought  the  two  loves  quite  incom- 
patible at  the  present  time,"  he  objected  drily. 

Mrs.  Otway  flushed  in  the  half  darkness.  "I  find 
them  quite  compatible,  James,"  she  exclaimed.  "Of 
course  I'm  sorry  that  the  military  party  should  triumpH 
in  Germany — that,  we  all  must  feel,  and  probably  many 
Germans  do  too.  But,  after  all,  you  may  hate  the 
sin  and  love  the  sinner!" 

"Will  you  feel  the  same  when  Germans  have  killed 
Englishmen?"  he  asked  idly.  He  was  watching  the 
door  through  which  Rose  had  vanished  a  few  mo- 
ments ago,  longing  with  a  restrained,  controlled  long- 
ing for  her  return. 

As  a  matter  of  fact  he  himself  had  never  had  any 
feeling  of  dislike  of  the  Germans;  on  the  contrary, 
he  had  struck  up  an  acquaintance  which  had  almost 
become  friendship  with  one  of  the  younger  members 
of  the  German  Embassy.  And  suddenly  Mrs.  Otway 
remembered  it. 

"Why,  you  yourself,"  she  cried,  "you  yourself, 
James,  have  a  German  friend — I  mean  that  young 


128  Good  Old  Anna 

Von  Lissing.  I  liked  him  so  much  that  week-end  you 
brought  him  down.  What's  happened  to  him?  I 
suppose  he's  gone?" 

"Gone?"  He  turned  and  looked  at  her  in  the  twi- 
light. Really,  Aunt  Mary  was  sometimes  very  silly. 
"Of  course,  he's  gone!  As  a  matter  of  fact  he  left 
London  ten  days  before  his  chief."  And  then  he 
added  reflectively,  perhaps  with  more  a  wish  to  tease 
her  than  anything  else,  "I've  rather  wondered  this  last 
week  whether  Von  Lissing's  friendship  with  me  was 
regarded  by  him  as  a  business  matter.  He  sometimes 
asked  me  such  odd  questions.  Of  course  one  has  al- 
ways known  that  Germans  are  singularly  inquisitive — 
that  they  are  always  wanting  to  find  out  things.  I 
confess  it  never  struck  me  at  the  time  that  his  ques- 
tions meant  anything  more  than  that  sort  of  insatiable 
wish  to  know  that  all  Germans  have." 

"What  sort  of  things  did  he  ask  you,  James  ?"  asked 
Mrs.  Otway  curiously. 

"Well,  I'll  tell  you  one  thing  he  said,  and  it  aston- 
ished me  very  much  indeed.  He  asked  me  what  atti- 
tude I  thought  our  colonies  would  take  if  we  became 
embroiled  in  a  European  war!  I  reminded  him  of 
what  they'd  done  in  South  Africa  fourteen  years  ago, 
and  he  said  he  thought  the  world  had  altered  a  good 
deal  since  then,  and  that  people  had  become  more 
selfish.  But  he  never  asked  me  any  question  concern- 
ing my  own  special  department.  In  those  ways  he 
quite  played  the  game — not  that  it  would  have  been 
of  any  use,  because  of  course  I  shouldn't  have  told 
him  anything.  But  he  was  certainly  oddly  inquiring 
about  other  departments." 


Good  Old  Anna  129 

Then  Rose  came  out  again,  and  James  Hayley  tried 
to  make  himself  pleasant.  Fortunately  for  himself  he 
did  not  know  how  little  he  succeeded.  Rose  found 
his  patronising,  tutor-like  manner  intolerable. 


CHAPTER  XII 

MRS.  HEGNER  leant  her  woe-begone,  tear-stained 
little  face  against  the  centre  window-pane  of 
one  of  the  two  windows  in  her  bedroom. 

The  room  was  a  very  large  room.  But  she  had 
never  liked  it,  large,  spacious,  and  airy  though  it  was. 
You  see,  it  was  furnished  entirely  like  a  German  bed- 
room, not  like  a  nice  cosy  English  room.  Thus  the 
place  where  a  fireplace  would  naturally  have  been  was 
taken  up  by  a  large  china  stove ;  and  instead  of  a  big 
brass  double  bed  there  were  two  low  narrow  box  beds. 
On  her  husband's  bed  was  a  huge  eiderdown,  and  under 
that  only  a  sheet — no  blankets  at  all !  Polly  hoped  that 
this  horrid  fact  would  never  be  known  in  Witanbury. 
It  would  make  quite  a  talk. 

There  was  linoleum  on  the  floor  instead  of  a  car- 
pet, and  there  was  very  little  ease  about  the  one  arm- 
chair which  her  husband  had  grudgingly  allowed  her 
to  have  up  here. 

Close  to  his  bed,  at  right  angles  to  it,  was  a  huge 
black  and  green  safe.  That  safe,  as  Polly  well  knew, 
had  cost  a  very  great  deal  of  money,  enough  money 
to  have  furnished  this  room  in  really  first-class  style, 
with  good  Wilton  pile  carpet  all  complete. 

But  Manfred  had  chosen  to  furnish  the  room  m 
his  own  style,  and  it  was  a  style  to  which  Polly  could 
never  grow  accustomed.  It  outraged  all  the  instinc- 
tive prejudices  and  conventions  inherited  from  her 
respectable,  lower  middle-class  forbears.  Instead  of 

130 


Good  Old  Anna  131 

being  good  substantial  mahogany  or  walnut,  it  was 
some  queerly  veined  light-coloured  wood,  and  deco- 
rated with  the  strangest  coloured  rectangular  designs, 
and  painted — well,  with  nightmare  oddities,  that's  what 
she  called  them!  And  she  was  not  far  wrong,  for 
all  down  one  side  of  the  wardrobe  waddled  a  pro- 
cession of  bright  green  ducks. 

Polly  could  never  make  her  husband  out.  He  was 
so  careful,  so — so  miserly  in  some  ways,  so  wildly 
extravagant  in  others.  All  this  furniture  had  come 
from  Germany,  and  must  have  cost  a  pretty  penny. 
It  was  true  that  he  had  got  it,  or  so  he  assured  her, 
with  very  heavy  discount  off — and  that  no  doubt  was 
correct. 

The  only  ornaments  in  the  room,  if  ornaments  they 
could  be  called,  were  faded  photographs  and  two  oleo- 
.graphs  in  gilt  frames.  One  of  the  photographs  was 
the  portrait  of  Manfred's  first  wife,  a  very  plain,  fat 
woman.  Then  there  were  tiny  cartes  of  Manfred's 
father  and  mother — regular  horrors  they  must  have 
been,  so  Polly  thought  resentfully.  The  oleographs 
were  views  of  Heidelburg  and  of  the  Kiel  Canal. 

Poor  Polly!  She  had  been  sent  up  here,  just  as  if 
she  was  a  little  girl  in  disgrace,  about  half  an  hour 
ago — simply  for  having  told  her  own  sister  Jenny,  who 
was  useful  maid  to  Miss  Haworth  at  the  Deanery,  that 
Manfred  had  spent  yesterday  at  Southampton.  He 
had  gone  on  smiling  quite  affably  as  long  as  Jenny 
was  there,  but  the  door  had  hardly  closed  on  her  be- 
fore he  had  turned  round  on  her,  Polly,  in  furious 
anger. 

"Blab!  Blab!  Blab!"  he  had  snapped  out.  "You'll 
end  by  hanging  me  before  you've  done!  It  won't  be 


132  Good  Old  Anna 

any  good  then  saying  'Oh,  I  didn't  know,'  'Oh,  I 
didn't  mean  to !' '  He  mimicked  with  savage  irony 
her  frightened  accents.  And  then,  as  she  had  burst 
into  tears,  he  had  ordered  her  up  here,  out  of  his 
sight. 

Yes,  Manfred  had  an  awful  temper,  and  since 
Wednesday  evening  he  hadn't  given  her  one  kind  word 
or  look.  In  fact,  during  the  last  few  days  Polly  had 
felt  as  if  she  must  run  away  from  him.  Not  to  do 
anything  wicked,  you  understand — good  gracious,  no! 
She  had  had  enough  of  men. 

And  now,  resentfully,  she  asked  herself  why  Man- 
fred bothered  so  much  about  this  war.  After  all,  he 
had  taken  out  his  certificate;  he  was  an  Englishman 
now.  She  told  herself  that  it  was  all  the  Dean's  fault. 
Stupid,  interfering  old  gentleman — that's  what  the 
Dean  was !  Manfred  had  gone  up  to  the  Deanery  last 
Wednesday,  and  the  Dean  told  him  it  was  his  duty 
to  look  after  the  Germans  in  Witanbury — as  if  Ger- 
mans couldn't  look  after  themselves.  Of  course  they 
could!  They  were  far  cleverer  at  that  sort  of  thing 
than  English  people  were.  Polly  could  have  told  the 
Dean  that. 

As  to  business — business  had  been  just  as  brisk,  or 
very  nearly  as  brisk,  during  the  last  few  days  as  ever 
before,  and  that  though  they  had  only  been  able  to 
keep  the  shop,  so  to  speak,  half  open.  It  was  clear 
this  silly  war  wasn't  going  to  make  any  difference  to 
them. 

At  first  she  had  tried  to  make  allowances ;  no  doubt 
Manfred  did  feel  unhappy  about  his  son,  Fritz,  who 
was  now  on  his  way  to  fight  the  Russians.  But  he 
had  hardly  mentioned  Fritz  after  the  first  minute.  In- 


Good  Old  Anna  133 

stead  of  that,  he  had  only  exclaimed,  at  frequent  in- 
tervals, that  this  war  would  ruin  them.  He  really 
did  believe  it,  too,  for  he  had  even  said  it  in  his  sleep. 

Why,  they  were  made  of  money.  Polly  had  the 
best  of  reasons  for  knowing  that.  They  didn't  owe  a 
penny  to  anybody,  excepting  to  the  builder.  And  no 
one  could  have  acted  better  than  that  builder  had  done. 
He  had  hurried  round  the  very  first  thing  on  Wednes- 
day to  tell  them  not  to  worry.  In  fact,  even  Man- 
fred, who  seldom  had  a  good  word  for  anybody,  agreed 
that  Mr.  Smith  had  behaved  very  handsomely. 

People  were  now  beginning  to  walk  across  the 
Market  Place,  and  rather  more  were  going  to  evening 
service  in  the  Cathedral  than  usual. 

Polly  didn't  want  any  one  to  look  up  and  see  she 
had  been  crying.  So  she  retreated  a  little  way  into 
the  room.  Then  she  went  over  and  poured  some 
water  from  the  queer-shaped  jug  into  the  narrow,  deep 
basin,  which  was  so  unlike  a  nice  big  wide  English 
basin.  After  that  she  washed  her  face,  and  dabbed 
her  eyes  with  eau-de-Cologne. 

Manfred,  who  was  so  economical  about  most  things, 
and  who  even  grudged  her  spending  more  than  a  cer- 
tain sum  on  necessary  household  cleaning  implements, 
was  very  fond  of  scent,  and  he  had  quite  a  row  of 
scent-bottles  and  pomades  on  his  side  of  the  washhand- 
stand.  .  .  . 

While  Polly  was  dabbing  her  eyes  and  face  she 
looked  meditatively  at  the  big  safe  in  the  corner. 

With  that  safe  was  connected  her  one  real  bit  of 
deceit.  Manfred  thought  she  didn't  know  what  was 
in  the  safe,  but  as  a  matter  of  fact  she  knew  what  was 
safely  put  away  there  as  well  as  he  did.  Amazing  to 


134  Good  Old  Anna 

relate,  she  actually  had  a  key  to  the  safe  of  which  he, 
her  husband,  knew  nothing. 

It  had  fallen  out  in  this  wise.  The  gentleman  who 
had  come  from  London  to  superintend  the  fixing  of 
the  safe  had  left  an  envelope  for  Manfred,  or  rather 
he  had  asked  for  an  envelope,  then  he  had  popped 
inside  it  a  piece  of  paper  and  something  else. 

"Look  here,  Mrs.  Hegner!"  he  had  exclaimed.  "I 
can't  wait  to  see  your  husband,  for  I've  got  to  get  my 
train  back  to  town.  Will  you  just  give  him  this? 
Many  people  only  provide  two  keys  to  a  safe,  but  our 
firm  always  provides  three." 

She  had  waited  till  the  man  had  gone,  and  then 
she  had  at  once  gone  upstairs  and  locked  herself  into 
her  bedroom  with  the  new  safe  and  the  open  envelope 
containing  the  receipted  bill  and  the  three  keys.  One 
of  these  keys  she  had  put  in  her  purse,  and  then  she 
had  placed  the  bill,  and  the  two  remaining  keys,  in 
a  fresh  envelope. 

Polly  didn't  consider  husbands  and  wives  ought  to 
have  any  secrets  from  one  another.  But  from  the 
very  first,  even  when  Manfred  was  still  very  much  in 
love  with  her — aye,  and  very  jealous  of  her  too,  for 
the  matter  of  that — he  had  never  told  her  anything. 

For  a  long  time  she  hadn't  known  just  where  to 
keep  her  key  of  the  safe,  and  it  had  lain  on  her  mind 
like  a  great  big  load  of  worry;  she  had  felt  obliged 
to  be  always  changing  the  place  where  she  hid  it. 

Then,  suddenly,  Manfred  had  presented  her  with 
an  old-fashioned  rosewood  dressing-case  he  had  taken 
from  some  one  in  part  payment  of  a  small  debt.  And 
in  this  dressing-case,  so  a  friend  had  shown  her,  there 
was  a  secret  place  for  letters.  You  pushed  back  an 


Good  Old  Anna  135 

innocent-looking  little  brass  inlaid  knob,  and  the  blue 
velvet  back  fell  forward,  leaving  a  space  behind. 

From  the  day  she  had  been  shown  this  dear  little 
secret  space,  the  key  of  the  safe  had  lain  there,  ex- 
cepting on  the  very  rare  occasions  when  she  was  able 
to  take  it  out  and  use  it.  Of  course  she  never  did  this 
unless  she  knew  that  Manfred  was  to  be  away  for 
the  whole  day  from  Witanbury,  and  even  then  she 
trembled  and  shook  with  fright  lest  he  should  suddenly 
come  in  and  surprise  her.  But  what  she  had  learnt 
made  her  tremors  worth  while. 

It  was  pleasant,  indeed,  to  know  that  a  lot  of  money 
— nice  golden  sovereigns  and  crisp  five-pound  notes — 
was  lying  there,  and  that  Manfred  must  be  always 
adding  to  the  store.  Last  time  she  had  looked  into 
the  safe  there  was  eight  hundred  pounds!  Two-thirds 
in  gold,  one-third  in  five-pound  notes.  She  had  some- 
times thought  it  odd  that  Manfred  kept  such  a  lot  of 
gold,  but  that  was  his  business,  not  hers. 

It  was  very  unkind  of  him  not  to  have  told  her 
of  all  this  money.  After  all,  she  helped  to  earn  it! 
But  she  knew  he  believed  her  to  be  extravagant. 

What  sillies  men  were !  As  if  the  fact  that  he  had 
this  money  put  away,  no  doubt  accumulating  in  order 
that  they  might  pay  off  the  mortgage  quicker,  would 
make  her  spend  more.  Why,  it  had  actually  had  the 
effect  of  making  her  more  careful. 

In  addition  to  the  money  in  the  safe,  there  were 
one  or  two  deeds  connected  with  little  bits  of  house 
property  Manfred  had  acquired  in  Witanbury  during 
the  last  six  years.  And  then,  on  the  top  shelf  of  the 
safe,  there  were  a  lot  of  letters — letters  written  in 
German,  of  which  of  course  she  could  make  neither 


136  Good  Old  Anna 

head  nor  tail.  Once  a  month  a  registered  letter  ar- 
rived, sometimes  from  Holland,  sometimes  from  Brus- 
sels, for  Manfred;  and  it  had  gradually  become  clear 
to  her  that  it  was  these  letters  which  he  kept  in  the 
safe. 

There  came  a  loud  impatient  knock  at  the  door.  She 
started  guiltily. 

"Open!"  cried  her  husband  imperiously.  "Open, 
Polly,  at  once !  I  have  already  forbidden  you  to  lock 
the  door." 

But  she  knew  by  the  tone  of  his  voice  that  he  was 
no  longer  really  angry  with  her.  So,  walking  rather 
slowly,  she  went  across  and  unlocked  the  door. 

She  stepped  back  quickly — the  door  opened,  and  a 
moment  later  she  was  in  her  husband's  arms,  and  he 
was  kissing  her. 

"Well,  little  one !  You're  good  now,  eh  ?  Does  my 
little  sugar  lamb  want  a  treat?" 

Polly  knew  that  when  he  called  her  his  little  sugar 
lamb  it  meant  that  he  was  in  high  good-humour. 

"It  won't  be  much  of  a  treat  to  stay  at  home  and 
do  the  civil  to  that  old  Mrs.  Bauer,"  she  said,  and 
looked  up  at  him  coquettishly. 

There  were  good  points  about  Manfred.  When  he 
was  good-tempered,  as  he  seemed  to  be  just  now,  it 
generally  meant  that  there  would  be  a  present  for  her 
coming  along.  And  sure  enough  he  pulled  a  little 
box  out  of  one  of  his  bulging  pockets. 

"Here's  a  present  for  my  little  lollipop,"  he  said. 

Eagerly  she  opened  the  box;  but  though  she  ex- 
claimed "It's  very  pretty!"  she  really  felt  a  good  deal 
disappointed.  For  it  was  only  a  queer,  old-fashioned 


Good  Old  Anna  137 

light  gold  locket.  In  tiny  diamonds — they  were  real 
diamonds,  but  Polly  did  not  know  that — were  set  the 
words  "Rule  Britannia,"  and  below  the  words  was  a 
funny  little  enamel  picture  of  a  sailing-ship.  Not  the 
sort  of  thing  she  would  care  to  wear,  excepting  just 
to  please  Manfred. 

"You  can  put  that  on  the  chain  I  gave  you,"  he 
said.  "It  looks  nice  and  patriotic.  And  about  this 
evening — well,  I've  changed  my  mind.  You  need  not 
stop  in  for  Mrs.  Bauer.  Just  say  how-d'ye-do  to  her, 
and  then  go  out — to  the  Deanery  if  you  like.  You  see 
that  I  trust  you,  Polly;"  his  face  stiffened,  a  frown 
came  over  it.  "I  have  written  a  letter  to  the  Dean 
for  you  to  take;  you  may  read  it  if  you  like." 

She  drew  the  bit  of  paper  out  of  the  envelope  with 
a  good  deal  of  curiosity.  Whatever  could  Manfred 
have  to  write  to  the  Dean  about?  True,  he  was  fond 
of  writing  letters,  and  he  expressed  himself  far  better 
than  most  Englishmen  of  his  station.  Polly  had  quite 
a  nice  packet  of  his  love-letters,  which,  at  the  time 
she  had  received  them,  had  delighted  her  by  their  flow- 
ery appropriateness  of  language,  and  quaint,  out-of- 
the-way  expressions. 

"MOST  REVEREND  SIR" — so  ran  Manfred  Hegner's 
letter  to  the  Dean.  "I  wish  to  thank  you  for  your 
kindness  to  me  during  the  last  few  eventful  days.  I 
have  endeavoured  to  deserve  it  in  every  way  possible. 
I  trust  you  will  approve  of  a  step  I  propose  taking  on 
Monday.  That  is,  to  change  my  name  to  Alfred  Head. 
As  you  impressed  upon  me,  Reverend  Sir,  in  the  in- 
terview you  were  good  enough  to  grant  me,  I  am  now 
an  Englishman,  with  all  the  duties  as  well  as  the  priv- 


138  Good  Old  Anna 

ileges  of  this  great  nation.  So  it  is  best  I  have  a  Brit- 
ish name.  I  am  taking  steps  to  have  my  new  name 
painted  up  outside  the  Stores,  and  I  am  informing  by 
circular  all  those  whom  it  may  concern.  Your  inter- 
est in  me,  Reverend  Sir,  has  made  me  venture  to  tell 
you,  before  any  one  else,  of  the  proposed  alteration. 
I  therefore  sign  myself,  most  Reverend  Sir, 
"Yours  very  faithfully, 

"ALFRED  HEAD." 

"I  think  Head  is  a  horrid  name!"  said  his  wife 
imprudently.  "I  don't  think  Tolly  Head'  is  half  as 
nice  as  'Polly  Hegner.'  Why,  mother  used  to  know 
a  horrid  old  man  called  Head.  He  was  a  scavenger, 
and  he  only  cleaned  himself  once  a  year — on  Christmas 
Day!" 

Then,  as  she  saw  the  thunderclouds  gathering,  she 
exclaimed  in  a  rather  frightened  tone,  "But  don't  mind 
what  /  say,  Manfred.  You  know  best.  I  daresay  I'll 
get  used  to  it  soon!" 

As  they  went  downstairs  Polly  had  been  thinking. 

"I  fancy  you've  had  this  in  your  mind  for  some 
time." 

"What  makes  you  fancy  that  ?"  he  asked. 

"Because  we've  so  near  got  to  the  end  of  our  stock 
of  cards  and  bill-heads,"  she  said,  "and  you  wouldn't 
let  me  order  any  more  last  week." 

"You're  a  sharp  girl"— he  laughed.  "Well,  yes!  I 
have  been  thinking  of  it  some  time.  And  what's  hap- 
pened now  has  just  tipped  the  bucket — see  ?" 

"Yes,  I  see  that." 

"I've  already  written  out  the  order  for  new  bill- 
heads and  new  cards!  and  I've  sent  round  the  order 


Good  Old  Anna  139 

about  Monday,"  he  went  on.  "But  if  this  dratted 
Bank  Holiday  goes  on,  there  won't  be  much  work  done 
in  Witanbury  on  Monday!  Hush!  Here  she  comes." 

There  had  come  a  ring  at  the  back  door.  Polly 
went  out,  and  a  moment  later  brought  back  the  old 
German  woman. 

Anna  was  surprised  to  find  the  husband  and  wife 
alone.  She  had  thought  that  the  Frohlings  at  least 
would  be  there. 

"Well,  Mrs.  Bauer" — her  host  spoke  in  German — 
"a  friend  or  two  who  were  coming  have  failed,  and 
you  will  have  to  put  up  with  me,  for  my  wife  has  to 
go  up  to  the  Deanery  to  see  her  sister.  But  you  and  I 
will  have  plenty  to  talk  about  at  such  a  time  as  this. 
And  I  have  got  some  papers  from  Berlin  for  you.  I 
do  not  know  how  much  longer  they  will  be  coming 
to  England." 

The  old  woman's  face  lighted  up.  Yes,  it  would 
be  very  nice  to  see  one  or  two  of  the  grand  German 
picture  papers  which  had  been  lately  started  in  the 
Fatherland  in  imitation  of  those  which  were  so  popular 
in  England. 

"Do  not  trouble  to  look  at  them  now,"  he  added 
hastily.  "You  can  take  them  home  with  you.  Mrs. 
Otway,  she  is  too  broad-minded  a  lady  to  mind,  is  she 
not?" 

"Ach !  Yes  indeed,"  said  Anna.  "Mrs.  Otway,  she 
loves  the  Fatherland.  This  foolish  trouble  makes 
not  the  slightest  difference  to  her." 

Polly  had  been  standing  by  rather  impatiently. 
"Sometimes  I'm  quite  sorry  I  haven't  taken  the  trouble 
to  learn  German,"  she  said. 

Her  husband  chucked  her  under  the  chin.     "How 


140  Good  Old  Anna 

would  Frau  Bauer  and  I  ever  be  able  to  talk  our  secrets 
together  if  you  understood  what  we  said,  little 
woman?" 

And  Anna  joined  in  the  laugh  with  which  this  sally 
was  greeted. 

"So  long !"  said  Polly  brightly.  "I  expect  I'll  be  back 
before  you've  gone,  Mrs.  Bauer." 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THERE  is  good  news!"  exclaimed  Anna's  host, 
as  soon  as  the  door  was  shut  behind  his  wife. 
"The  British  have  sunk  one  of  our  little  steamers,  but 
we  have  blown  up  one  of  theirs — a  very  big,  important 
war-vessel,  Frau  Bauer!" 

Good  old  Anna's  face  beamed.  It  was  not  that  she 
disliked  England — indeed,  she  was  very  fond  of  Eng- 
land. But  she  naturally  felt  that  in  this  great  game 
of  war  it  was  only  right  and  fair  that  the  Father- 
land should  win.  It  did  not  occur  to  her,  and  well 
he  knew  it  would  not  occur  to  her,  that  the  man  who 
had  just  spoken  was  at  any  rate  nominally  an  Eng- 
lishman. She,  quite  as  much  as  he  did  himself,  re- 
garded the  naturalisation  certificate  as  a  mere  matter 
of  business.  It  had  never  made  any  difference  to  any 
of  the  Germans  Anna  had  known  in  England — in  fact 
the  only  German-Englishman  she  knew  was  old  Froh- 
ling,  who  had  never  taken  out  his  certificate  at  all. 
Frohling  really  did  adore  England,  and  this  had  some- 
times made  old  Anna  feel  very  impatient.  To  Froh- 
ling everything  English  was  perfect,  and  he  had  been 
quite  pleased,  instead  of  sorry,  when  his  son  had  joined 
the  British  Army. 

"So?  That  is  good!"  she  exclaimed.  "Very  good! 
But  we  must  not  seem  too  pleased,  must  we,  Herr 
Hegner?" 

And  he  shook  his  head.  "No,  to  be  too  pleased 
would  not  be  grateful,"  he  said,  "to  good  old  Eng- 

141 


142  Good  Old  Anna 

land !"  And  he  spoke  with  no  sarcasm,  he  really  meant 
what  he  said. 

"It  makes  me  sad  to  think  of  all  the  deaths,  whether 
they  are  German  or  English,"  went  on  Anna  sadly. 
"I  do  not  feel  the  same  about  the  Russians  or  the 
French  naturally." 

"Ach!  How  much  I  agree  with  you,"  he  said  feel- 
ingly. "The  poor  English !  Truly  do  I  pity  them.  I 
am  quite  of  your  mind,  Frau  Bauer;  though  every 
Russian  and  most  Frenchmen  are  a  good  riddance,  I 
do  not  rejoice  to  think  of  any  Englishman,  however 
lazy,  tiresome,  and  pigheaded,  being  killed." 

They  both  ate  steadily  for  a  few  minutes,  then 
Manfred  Hegner  began  again.  "But  very  few  Eng- 
lishmen will  be  killed  by  our  brave  fellows.  You  will 
have  to  shed  no  tears  for  any  one  you  know  in  Witan- 
bury,  Frau  Bauer.  The  English  are  not  a  fighting 
people.  Most  of  their  sailors  will  be  drowned,  no 
doubt,  but  at  that  one  must  not  after  all  repine." 

"Yet  the  English  are  sending  an  army  to  Belgium," 
observed  Anna,  thoughtfully. 

"What  makes  you  think  that?"  He  stopped  in  the 
work  on  which  he  was  engaged,  that  of  cutting  a  large 
sausage  into  slices.  "Have  you  learnt  it  on  good  au- 
thority, Frau  Bauer?  Has  this  news  been  told  you 
by  the  young  gentleman  official  from  London  who  is 
connected  with  the  Government — I  mean  he  who  is 
courting  your  young  lady?" 

Anna  drew  back  stiffly.  "How  they  do  gossip  in 
this  town!"  she  exclaimed,  frowning.  "Courting  my 
young  lady,  indeed !  No,  Mr.  Hegner,  it  was  not  Mr. 
Hayley  who  told  this.  Mr.  Hayley  is  one  of  those 
who  talk  a  great  deal  without  saying  anything." 


Good  Old  Anna  143 

"Then  on  whose  authority  do  you  speak?"  He 
spoke  with  a  certain  rough  directness. 

"I  know  because  Major  Guthrie  started  for  Belgium 
on  Friday  last,  at  two  o'clock.  By  now  he  must  be 
there,  righting  our  folk." 

"Major  Guthrie?"  He  looked  puzzled.  "Is  he  a 
gentleman  of  the  garrison? — surely  not?" 

"No,  no.  He  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  garri- 
son!" exclaimed  Anna.  "But  you  must  have  very 
often  seen  him,  for  he  is  constantly  in  the  town.  And 
he  speaks  German,  Mr.  Hegner.  I  should  have  thought 
he  would  have  been  in  to  see  you." 

"You  mean  the  son  of  the  old  lady  who  lives  at 
Dorycote?  They  have  never  dealt  at  my  Stores" — 
there  was  a  tone  of  disappointment,  of  contempt,  in 
Mr.  Hegner's  voice.  "But  that  gentleman  has  retired 
from  the  Army,  Frau  Bauer ;  it  is  not  he,  surely,  whom 
they  would  call  out  to  fight?" 

"Still,  all  the  same,  he  is  going  to  Belgium.  To 
France  first,  and  then  to  Belgium."  She  spoke  very 
positively,  annoyed  at  being  doubted. 

Mr.  Hegner  hesitated  for  a  moment.  He  stroked 
his  moustache.  "I  daresay  this  Major  has  gone  back 
to  his  old  regiment,  for  the  English  have  mobilised 
their  army — such  as  it  is.  But  that  does  not  mean 
that  they  are  sending  troops  to  the  Continent." 

"But  I  even  know  where  the  Major  is  going  to  land 
in  France." 

Mr.  Hegner  drew  in  his  breath.  "Ach!"  he  said. 
"That  is  really  interesting!  Do  you  indeed?  And 
what  is  the  name  of  the  place?" 

"Boulogne,"  she  said  readily. 

"But  how  do  you  know  all  this?"  he  asked  slowly. 


144  Good  Old  Anna 

"Mrs.  Otway  told  me.  This  Major  is  a  great  friend 
of  my  ladies.  But  though  it  was  she  who  told  me 
about  Boulogne,  I  heard  the  good-byes  said  in  the  hall. 
Everything  can  be  heard  from  my  kitchen,  you  see." 

"Try  and  remember  exactly  what  it  was  that  this 
Major  said.  It  may  be  of  special  interest  to  me." 

"He  said" — she  hesitated  a  moment,  and  then,  in 
English,  quoted  the  words :  "He  said,  'I  shall  be  very 
busy  seeing  about  my  kit  before  I  leave  England.' ' 

"Before  I  leave  England?"  he  repeated  meditatively. 
"Yes,  if  you  did  indeed  hear  him  say  those  words 
they  are  proof  positive,  Frau  Bauer." 

"Of  course  they  are!"  she  said  triumphantly. 

They  had  a  long  and  pleasant  meal,  and  old  Anna 
enjoyed  every  moment  of  it.  Not  since  she  had  spent 
that  delightful  holiday  in  Berlin  had  she  drunk  so 
much  beer  at  one  sitting.  And  it  was  such  nice  light 
beer,  too!  Mrs.  Otway,  so  understanding  as  to  most 
things  connected  with  Germany,  had  sometimes  ex- 
pressed her  astonishment  at  the  Germans'  love  of  beer; 
she  thought  it,  strange  to  say,  unhealthy,  as  well  as 
unpalatable. 

To  this  day  Anna  could  remember  the  resentful  pain 
with  which  she  had  learnt,  some  time  after  she  had 
arrived  at  the  Trellis  House,  that  many  English  ladies 
allowed  their  servants  "beer  money."  Had  she  made 
a  stand  at  the  first,  she  too  might  have  had  "beer 
money."  But,  alas!  Mrs.  Otway,  when  engaging  her, 
had  observed  that  in  her  household  coffee  and  milk 
took  the  place  of  alcohol.  Poor  Anna,  at  that  time  in 
deep  trouble,  finding  her  eight-year-old  child  an  al- 
most insuperable  bar  to  employment,  would  have  ac- 
cepted any  conditions,  however  hard,  to  find  a  respecta- 


Good  Old  Anna  145 

ble  roof  once  more  over  her  head  and  that  of  her 
little  Louisa. 

But,  as  time  had  gone  on,  she  had  naturally  resented 
Mrs.  Otway's  peculiar  rule  concerning  beer,  and  she 
had  so  far  broken  it  as  to  enjoy  a  jug  of  beer — of 
course  at  her  own  expense — once  a  week.  But  she 
had  only  begun  doing  that  after  Mrs.  Otway  had  raised 
her  wages. 

Host  and  guest  talked  on  and  on.  Mr.  Hegner 
confided  to  Anna  his  coming  change  of  name,  and 
he  seemed  pleased  to  know  that  she  thought  it  quite 
a  good  plan. 

Then  suddenly  he  began  to  cross-question  her  about 
Mr.  James  Hayley.  But  unluckily  she  could  tell  him 
very  little  beyond  at  last  admitting  that  he  was,  with- 
out doubt,  in  love  with  her  young  lady.  There  was, 
however,  nothing  very  interesting  in  that. 

Yes,  Mr.  Hayley  was  fond  of  talking,  but,  as  Anna 
had  said  just  now,  he  talked  without  saying  anything, 
and  she  was  too  busy  to  pay  much  heed  to  what  he 
did  say.  He  had  come  to  dinner  yesterday,  that  is, 
Saturday,  but  he  had  had  to  leave  Witanbury  early 
this  morning.  The  one  thing  Anna  did  remember 
having  heard  him  remark,  for  he  said  it  more  than 
once,  was  that  up  to  the  last  moment  they  had  all 
thought,  in  his  office,  that  there  would  be  no  war. 

"He  is  not  the  only  one.  I,  too,  believed  that  the 
war  would  only  come  next  year,"  observed  Anna's 
host  ruefully. 

The  old  woman  thought  these  questions  quite  nat- 
ural, for  all  Germans  have  an  insatiable  curiosity  con- 
cerning what  may  be  called  the  gossip  side  of  life. 

At  last  Manfred  Hegner  pushed  back  his  chair. 


146  Good  Old  Anna 

"Will  you  look  at  the  pictures  in  these  papers,  Frau 
Bauer?  I  have  to  go  upstairs  for  something.  I  shall 
not  be  gone  for  more  than  two  or  three  minutes."  He 
opened  wide  a  sheet  showing  the  Kaiser  presiding  at 
fire  drill  on  board  his  yacht. 

Then,  leaving  his  visitor  quite  happy,  he  hurried  up- 
stairs, and  going  into  his  bedroom,  locked  the  door  and 
turned  on  the  electric  light.  With  one  of  the  twin  tiny 
keys  he  always  carried  on  his  watch-chain  he  opened 
his  safe,  and  in  a  very  few  moments  had  found  what 
he  wanted.  Polly  would  indeed  have  been  surprised 
had  she  seen  what  it  was.  From  the  back  of  the  pile 
of  letters  she  had  never  disturbed,  he  drew  out  a  shabby 
little  black  book.  It  was  a  book  of  addresses  written 
in  alphabetical  order,  and  there  were  the  names  of  peo- 
ple, and  of  places,  all  over  the  Continent.  This  little 
book  had  been  forwarded,  registered,  by  one  of  its 
present  possessor's  business  friends  in  Holland  some 
ten  days  ago,  together  with  a  covering  letter  explaining 
the  value,  in  a  grocery  business,  of  these  addresses. 
Mr.  Hegner  was  not  yet  familiar  with  its  contents,  but 
he  found  fairly  quickly  the  address  he  wanted — that  of 
a  Spanish  merchant  at  Seville. 

Taking  out  the  block,  which  he  always  carried  about 
with  him,  from  his  pocket,  he  carefully  copied  on  it 
the  address  in  question.  Then  he  turned  over  the  thin 
pages  of  the  little  black  book  till  he  came  to  another 
address.  This  time  it  was  the  name  of  a  Frenchman, 
Jules  Boutet,  who  lived  in  the  Haute  Ville,  Boulogne. 
He  put  this  name  down,  too,  but  he  did  not  trouble 
about  Boutet's  address.  Finally  he  placed  the  book 
back  in  the  safe,  among  the  private  papers  which  Polly 
never  disturbed.  Then,  tearing  off  the  top  sheet  of  the 


Good  Old  Anna  147 

block,  he  wrote  the  Spanish  address  out,  and  under  it, 
"Father  can  come  back  on  or  about  August  19.  Boutet 
is  expecting  him." 

He  hesitated  for  some  time  over  the  signature.  And 
then,  at  last,  he  put  the  English  Christian  name  of 
"Emily." 

He  pushed  the  book  back,  well  out  of  sight,  then 
shutting  the  safe  hastened  downstairs  again. 

At  any  moment  Polly  might  return  home ;  they  were 
early  folk  at  the  Deanery. 

Anna  had  already  got  up.  "I  think  I  must  be  going 
home,"  she  observed.  "My  ladies  will  soon  be  back. 
I  do  not  like  them  to  find  the  house  empty — though 
Mrs.  Otway  knows  that  I  am  here." 

"Do  you  ever  have  occasion  to  go  to  the  Post  Of- 
fice?" he  said  thoughtfully. 

And  she  answered,  "Yes;  I  have  a  Savings  Bank 
account.  Do  you  advise  me,  Mr.  Hegner,  to  take  my 
money  out  of  the  Savings  Bank  just  now?  Will  they 
not  be  taking  all  the  money  for  the  war?" 

"I  think  I  should  take  it  out.  Have  you  much  in?" 
As  he  spoke,  he  was  filling  up  a  foreign  telegraph  form, 
printing  the  words  in. 

"Not  very  much,"  she  said  cautiously.  "But  a  little 
sum — yes." 

"How  much?" 

She  hesitated  uncomfortably.  "I  have  forty  pounds 
in  the  English  Savings  Bank,"  she  said. 

"If  I  were  you" — he  looked  at  her  fixedly — "I  should 
take  it  all  out.  Make  them  give  it  you  in  sovereigns. 
And  then,  if  you  will  bring  it  to  me  here,  I  shall  be 

able  to  give  you  for  that — let  me  see "  he  waited  a 

moment.  "Yes,  if  you  do  not  mind  taking  bank-notes 


148  Good  Old  Anna 

and  silver,  I  will  give  you  for  that  gold  of  yours  forty 
pounds  and  five  shillings.  Gold  is  useful  to  me  in  my 
business.  Oh — and,  Frau  Bauer?  When  you  do  go 
to  the  Post  Office  I  should  be  glad  if  you  would  send  off 
this  telegram  for  me.  It  is  a  business  telegram,  as  you 
can  see,  in  fact  a  code  telegram." 

She  took  the  piece  of  paper  in  her  hand,  then  looked 
at  it  and  at  him,  uncomprehendingly. 

"It  concerns  a  consignment  of  bitter  oranges.  I  do 
not  want  the  Witanbury  Post  Office  to  know  my  busi- 
ness." 

"Yes,  I  understand  what  you  mean." 

"It  is,  as  you  see,  a  Spanish  telegram,  and  it  will 
cost" — he  made  a  rapid  calculation,  then  went  to  the 
sideboard  and  took  out  some  silver.  "It  will  cost  five- 
and-sixpence.  I  therefore  give  you  seven-and-sixpence, 
Frau  Bauer.  That  is  two  shillings  for  your  trouble. 
If  possible,  I  should  prefer  that  no  one  sees  this  tele- 
gram being  despatched.  Do  I  make  myself  clear?" 

"Yes,  yes.    I  quite  understand." 

"And  if  you  are  asked  who  gave  it  you  to  despatch, 
say  it  is  a  Mrs.  Smith,  slightly  known  to  you,  whom 
you  just  met,  and  who  was  in  too  great  a  hurry  to 
catch  her  train  to  come  into  the  Post  Office." 

Anna  took  a  large  purse  out  of  her  capacious  pocket. 
In  it  she  put  the  telegram  and  the  money.  "I  will  send 
it  off  to-morrow  morning,"  she  exclaimed.  "You  may 
count  on  me." 

"Frau  Bauer?" 

She  turned  back. 

"Only  to  wish  you  again  a  cordial  good-night,  and 
to  say  I  hope  you  will  come  again  soon !" 

"Indeed,  that  I  will,"  she  called  out  gratefully. 


Good  Old  Anna  149 

As  he  was  shutting  the  back  door,  he  saw  his  wife 
hurrying  along  across  the  quiet  little  back  street. 

"Hullo,  Polly!"  he  cried,  and  she  came  quickly 
across.  "They  are  in  great  trouble  at  the  Deanery," 
she  observed,  "at  least,  Miss  Edith  is  in  great  trouble. 
She  has  been  crying  all  to-day.  They  say  her  face  is 
all  swelled  out — that  she  looks  an  awful  sight!  Her 
lover  is  going  away  to  fight,  and  some  one  has  told  her 
that  Lord  Kitchener  says  none  of  the  lot  now  going 
out  will  ever  come  back !  There  is  even  talk  of  their 
being  married  before  he  starts.  But  as  her  trousseau 
is  not  ready,  my  sister  thinks  it  would  be  a  very  stupid 
thing  to  do." 

"Did  the  Dean  get  my  letter?"  he  asked  abruptly. 

"Oh  yes,  I  forgot  to  tell  you  that.  I  gave  it  to  Mr. 
Dunstan,  the  butler.  He  says  that  the  Dean  opened  it 
and  read  it.  And  then  what  d'you  think  the  silly  old 
thing  said,  Manfred?" 

"You  will  have  to  get  into  the  way  of  calling  me 
Alfred,"  he  said  calmly. 

"Oh,  bother!" 

"Well,  what  did  the  reverend  gentleman  say  ?" 

"Mr.  Dunstan  says  that  he  just  exclaimed,  'I'm 
sorry  the  good  fellow  thinks  it  necessary  to  do  that.' 
So  you  needn't  have  troubled  after  all.  All  the  way  to 
the  Deanery  I  was  saying  to  myself,  'Mrs.  Head — ' 
Polly  Head.  Polly  Head— Mrs.  Head.'  And  no,  it's 
no  good  pretending  that  I  like  it,  for  I  just  don't!" 

"Then  you'll  just  have  to  do  the  other  thing,"  he  said 
roughly.  Still,  though  he  spoke  so  disagreeably,  he 
was  yet  in  high  good-humour.  Two  hours  ago  this 
information  concerning  Miss  Haworth's  lover  would 
have  been  of  the  utmost  interest  to  him,  and  even  now 


150  Good  Old  Anna 

it  was  of  value,  as  corroborating  what  Anna  had  al- 
ready told  him.  Frau  Bauer  was  going  to  be  very 
useful  to  him.  Alfred  Head,  for  already  he  was 
thinking  of  himself  by  that  name,  felt  that  he  had  had 
a  well-spent,  as  well  as  a  pleasant,  evening. 


CHAPTER    XIV 

HAD  it  not  been  for  the  contents  of  the  envelope 
which  she  kept  in  the  right-hand  drawer  of  her 
writing-table,  and  which  she  sometimes  took  out  sur- 
reptitiously, when  neither  her  daughter  nor  old  Anna 
were  about,  Mrs.  Otway,  as  those  early  August  days 
slipped  by,  might  well  have  thought  her  farewell  in- 
terview with  Major  Guthrie  a  dream. 

For  one  thing  there  was  nothing,  positively  nothing, 
in  any  of  the  daily  papers  over  which  she  wasted  so 
much  time  each  morning,  concerning  the  despatch  of 
an  Expeditionary  Force  to  the  Continent !  Could  Ma- 
jor Guthrie  have  been  mistaken? 

Once,  when  with  the  Dean,  she  got  very  near  the 
subject.  In  fact,  she  ventured  to  say  a  word  expressive 
of  her  belief  that  British  troops  were  to  be  sent  to 
France.  But  he  snubbed  her  with  a  sharpness  very 
unlike  his  urbane  self.  "Nonsense !"  he  cried.  "There 
isn't  the  slightest  thought  of  such  a  thing.  Any  small 
force  we  could  send  to  the  Continent  would  be  useless 
— in  fact,  only  in  the  way!" 

"Then  why  does  Lord  Kitchener  ask  for  a  hundred 
thousand  men?" 

"For  home  defence,"  said  the  Dean  quickly,  "only 
for  home  defence,  Mrs.  Otway.  The  War  Office  is 
said  to  regard  it  as  within  the  bounds  of  possibility 
that  England  may  be  invaded.  But  I  fancy  the  Kaiser 
is  far  too  truly  attached  to  his  mother's  country  to 
think  of  doing  anything  really  to  injure  us!  I  am 

151 


152  Good  Old  Anna 

sure  that  so  intelligent  and  enlightened  a  sovereign 
understands  our  point  of  view — I  mean  about  Belgium. 
The  Kaiser,  without  doubt,  was  overruled  by  the  mili- 
tary party.  As  to  our  sending  our  Army  abroad — 
why,  millions  are  already  being  engaged  in  this  war! 
So  where  would  be  the  good  of  our  small  army?" 

That  had  been  on  Sunday,  only  two  days  after 
Major  Guthrie  had  gone.  And  now,  it  being  Wednes- 
day, Mrs.  Otway  bethought  herself  that  she  ought  to 
fulfil  her  promise  with  regard  to  his  mother.  Some- 
how she  had  a  curious  feeling  that  she  now  owed  a 
duty  to  the  old  lady,  and  also — though  that  perhaps 
was  rather  absurd — that  she  would  be  quite  glad  to 
see  any  one  who  would  remind  her  of  her  kind  friend 
— the  friend  whom  she  missed  more  than  she  was  will- 
ing to  admit  to  herself. 

But  of  course  her  friend's  surprising  kindness  and 
thought  for  her  had  made  a  difference  to  her  point  of 
view,  and  had  brought  them,  in  a  sense,  very  much 
nearer  the  one  to  the  other.  In  fact  Mrs.  Otway  was 
surprised,  and  even  a  little  hurt,  that  Major  Guthrie 
had  not  written  to  her  once  since  he  went  away.  It  was 
the  more  odd  as  he  very  often  had  written  to  her  dur- 
ing former  visits  of  his  to  London.  Sometimes  they 
had  been  quite  amusing  letters. 

She  put  on  a  cool,  dark-grey  linen  coat  and  skirt, 
and  a  shady  hat,  and  then  she  started  off  for  the  mile 
walk  to  Dorycote. 

It  was  a  very  warm  afternoon.  Old  Mrs.  Guthrie, 
after  she  had  had  her  pleasant  little  after-luncheon 
nap,  established  herself,  with  the  help  of  her  maid, 
under  a  great  beech  tree  in  the  beautiful  garden  which 


Good  Old  Anna  153 

had  been  one  of  the  principal  reasons  why  Major 
Guthrie  had  chosen  this  house  at  Dorycote  for  his 
mother.  The  old  lady  was  wearing  a  pale  lavender 
satin  gown,  with  a  lace  scarf  wound  about  her  white 
hair  and  framing  her  still  pretty  pink  and  white  face. 

During  the  last  few  days  the  people  who  composed 
Mrs.  Guthrie's  little  circle  had  been  too  busy  and  too 
excited  to  come  and  see  her.  But  she  thought  it  likely 
that  to-day  some  one  would  drop  in  to  tea.  Any  one 
would  be  welcome,  for  she  was  feeling  a  little  mopish. 

No,  it  was  not  this  surprising,  utterly  unexpected, 
War  that  troubled  her.  Mrs.  Guthrie  belonged  by 
birth  to  the  fighting  caste;  her  father  had  been  a  sol- 
dier in  his  time,  and  so  had  her  husband. 

As  for  her  only  son,  he  had  made  the  Army  his 
profession,  and  she  knew  that  he  had  hoped  to  live  and 
die  in  it.  He  had  been  through  the  Boer  War,  and 
was  wounded  at  Spion  Kop,  so  he  had  done  his  duty 
by  his  country;  this  being  so,  she  could  not  help  being 
glad  now  that  Alick  had  retired  when  he  had.  But 
she  had  wisely  kept  that  gladness  to  herself  as  long  as 
he  was  with  her.  To  Mrs.  Guthrie's  thinking,  this 
War  was  France's  war,  and  Russia's  war;  only  in  an 
incidental  sense  England's  quarrel  too. 

Russia?  Mrs.  Guthrie  had  always  been  taught  to 
mistrust  Russia,  and  to  believe  that  the  Tsar  had  his 
eye  on  India.  She  could  remember,  too,  and  that  with 
even  now  painful  vividness,  the  Crimean  War,  for  a 
man  whom  she  had  cared  for  as  a  girl,  whom  indeed 
she  had  hoped  to  marry,  had  been  killed  at  the  storming 
of  the  Redan.  To  her  it  seemed  strange  that  England 
and  Russia  were  now  allies. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  one  moment  of  excitement 


154  Good  Old  Anna 

the  War  had  brought  her  was  in  connection  with  Rus- 
sia. An  old  gentleman  she  knew,  a  tiresome  neighbour 
whose  calls  usually  bored  rather  than  pleased  her,  had 
hobbled  in  yesterday  and  told  her,  as  a  tremendous 
secret,  that  Russia  was  sending  a  big  army  to  Flanders 
via  England,  through  a  place  called  Archangel  of 
which  she  had  vaguely  heard.  He  had  had  the  news 
from  Scotland,  where  a  nephew  of  his  had  actually 
seen  and  spoken  to  some  Russian  officers,  the  advance 
guard,  as  it  were,  of  these  legions! 

Mrs.  Guthrie  was  glad  this  war  had  come  after  the 
London  season  was  over.  Her  great  pleasure  each  day 
was  reading  the  Morning  Post,  and  during  this  last 
week  that  paper  had  been  a  great  deal  too  full  of  war 
news.  It  had  annoyed  her,  too,  to  learn  that  the  Cowes 
Week  had  been  given  up.  Of  course  no  German  yachts 
could  have  competed,  but  apart  from  that,  why  should 
not  the  regatta  have  gone  on  just  the  same?  It  looked 
as  if  the  King  (God  bless  him!)  was  taking  this  war 
too  seriously.  Queen  Victoria  and  King  Edward  would 
have  had  a  better  sense  of  proportion.  The  old  lady 
kept  these  thoughts  to  herself,  but  they  were  there,  all 
the  same. 

Yes,  it  was  a  great  pity  Cowes  had  been  given  up. 
Mrs.  Guthrie  missed  the  lists  of  names — names  which 
in  the  majority  of  cases,  unless  of  course  they  were 
those  of  Americans  and  of  uninteresting  nouvcaux 
riches,  recalled  pleasant  associations,  and  that  even  if 
the  people  actually  mentioned  were  only  the  children 
or  the  grandchildren  of  those  whom  she  had  known  in 
the  delightful  days  when  she  had  kept  house  for  her 
widower  brother  in  Mayfair. 

As  she  turned  her  old  head  stiffly  round,  and  saw 


Good  Old  Anna  155 

how  charming  her  well-kept  lawn  and  belt  of  high  trees 
beyond  looked  to-day,  she  felt  sorry  that  she  had  not 
written  one  or  two  little  notes  and  bidden  some  of  her 
Witanbury  Close  acquaintances  come  out  and  have  tea. 
The  Dean,  for  instance,  might  have  come.  Even  Mrs. 
Otway,  Alick's  friend,  would  have  been  better  than 
nobody ! 

Considering  that  she  did  not  like  her,  it  was  curious 
that  Mrs.  Guthrie  was  one  of  the  very  few  women  in 
that  neighbourhood  who  realised  that  the  mistress  of 
the  Trellis  House  was  an  exceptionally  attractive  per- 
son. More  than  once — in  fact  almost  always  after 
chance  had  brought  the  two  ladies  in  contact,  Mrs. 
Guthrie  would  observe  briskly  to  her  son,  "It's  rather 
odd  that  your  Mrs.  Otway  has  never  married  again!" 
And  it  always  amused  her  to  notice  that  it  irritated 
Alick  to  hear  her  say  this.  It  was  the  Scotch  bit  of 
him  which  made  Alick  at  once  so  shy  and  so  sentimen- 
tal where  women  were  concerned. 

Mrs.  Guthrie  had  no  idea  how  very  often  her  son 
went  to  the  Trellis  House,  but  even  had  she  known  it 
she  would  only  have  smiled  satirically.  She  had  but 
little  sympathy  with  platonic  friendships,  and  she  rec- 
ognised, with  that  shrewd  mother-sense  so  many  wo- 
men acquire  late  in  life,  that  Mrs.  Otway  was  a  most 
undesigning  widow. 

Not  that  it  would  have  really  mattered  if  she  had 
been  the  other  sort.  Major  Guthrie's  own  private 
means  were  small.  It  was  true  that  after  his  mother's 
death  he  would  be  quite  well  off,  but  Mrs.  Guthrie,  even 
if  she  had  a  weak  heart,  did  not  think  herself  likely  to 
die  for  a  long,  long  time.  .  .  .  And  yet,  as  time  went 
on,  and  as  the  old  lady  became,  perhaps,  a  thought  less) 


156  Good  Old  Anna 

selfish,  she  began  to  wish  that  her  son  would  fancy 
some  girl  with  money,  and  marrying,  settle  down.  If 
that  could  come  to  pass,  then  she,  Mrs.  Guthrie,  would 
be  content  to  live  on  by  herself,  in  the  house  which 
she  had  made  so  pretty,  and  where  she  had  gathered 
about  her  quite  a  pleasant  circle  of  admiring  and  ap- 
preciative, if  rather  dull,  country  friends. 

But  when  she  had  said  a  word  in  that  sense  to  Alick, 
he  had  tried  to  turn  the  suggestion  off  as  a  joke.  And 
as  she  had  persisted  in  talking  about  it,  he  had  shown 
annoyance,  even  anger.  At  last,  one  day,  he  had  ex- 
claimed, "I'm  too  old  to  marry  a  girl,  mother!  Some- 
how— I  don't  know  how  it  is — I  don't  seem  to  care 
very  much  for  girls." 

"There  are  plenty  of  widows  you  could  marry,"  she 
said  quickly.  "A  widow  is  more  likely  to  have  money 
than  a  girl."  He  had  answered,  "But  you  see  I  don't 
care  for  money."  And  then  she  had  observed,  "I 
don't  see  how  you  could  marry  without  money,  Alick." 
And  he  had  said  quietly,  "I  quite  agree.  I  don't  think 
I  could."  And  it  may  be  doubted  if  in  his  loyal  heart 
there  had  even  followed  the  unspoken  thought,  "So 
long  as  you  are  alive,  mother." 

Yes,  Alick  was  a  very  good  son,  and  Mrs.  Guthrie 
did  not  grudge  him  his  curious  friendship  with  Mrs. 
Otway. 

And  then,  just  as  she  was  saying  this  to  herself,  not 
for  the  first  time,  she  heard  the  sound  of  doors  opening 
and  closing,  and  she  saw,  advancing  towards  her  over 
the  bright  green  lawn,  the  woman  of  whom  she  had 
just  been  thinking  with  condescending  good-nature. 

Mrs.  Otway  looked  hot  and  a  little  tired — not  quite 


Good  Old  Anna  157 

as  attractive  as  usual.  This  perhaps  made  Mrs.  Guthrie 
all  the  more  glad  to  see  her. 

"How  kind  of  you  to  come !"  exclaimed  the  old  lady. 
"But  I'm  sorry  you  find  me  alone.  I  rather  hoped  my 
son  might  be  back  to-day.  He  had  to  go  up  to  London 
unexpectedly  last  Friday.  He  has  an  old  friend  in  the 
War  Office,  and  I  think  it  very  likely  that  this  man 
may  have  wanted  to  consult  him.  I  don't  know  if  you 
are  aware  that  Alick  once  spent  a  long  leave  in  Ger- 
many. Although  I  miss  him,  I  should  be  glad  to  think 
he  is  doing  something  useful  just  now.  But  of  course 
I  shouldn't  at  all  have  liked  the  thought  of  his  be- 
ginning again  to  fight — and  at  his  time  of  life!" 

"I  suppose  a  soldier  is  never  too  old  to  want  to 
fight," — but  even  while  she  spoke,  Mrs.  Otway  felt  as 
if  she  were  saying  something  rather  trite  and  foolish. 
She  was  a  little  bit  afraid  of  the  old  lady,  and  as  she 
sat  down  her  cheeks  grew  even  hotter  than  the  walking 
had  made  them,  for  she  suddenly  remembered  Major 
Guthrie's  legacy. 

"Yes,  that's  true,  of  course !  And  for  the  first  two 
or  three  days  of  last  week  I  could  see  that  Alick  was 
very  much  upset,  in  fact  horribly  depressed,  by  this 
War.  But  I  pretended  to  take  no  notice  of  it — it's 
always  better  to  do  that  with  a  man!  It's  never  the 
slightest  use  being  sympathetic — it  only  makes  people 
more  miserable.  However,  last  Friday,  after  getting 
a  telegram,  he  became  quite  cheerful  and  like  his  old 
self  again.  He  wouldn't  admit,  even  to  me,  that  he  had 
heard  from  the  War  Office.  But  I  put  two  and  two 
together!  Of  course,  as  he  is  in  the  Reserve,  he  may 
find  himself  employed  on  some  form  of  home  defence. 
I  could  see  that  Alick  thinks  that  the  Germans  will 


158  Good  Old  Anna 

probably  try  and  land  in  England — invade  it,  in  fact, 
as  the  Normans  did."  The  old  lady  smiled.  "It's  an 
amusing  idea,  isn't  it?" 

"But  surely  the  fleet's  there  to  prevent  that!"  said 
Mrs.  Otway.  She  was  surprised  that  so  sensible  a 
man  as  Major  Guthrie — her  opinion  of  him  had  gone 
up  very  much  this  last  week — should  imagine  such  a 
thing  as  that  a  landing  by  the  Germans  on  the  English 
coast  was  possible. 

"Oh,  but  he  says  there  are  at  least  a  dozen  schemes 
of  English  invasion  pigeonholed  in  the  German  War 
Office,  and  by  now  they've  doubtless  had  them  all  out 
and  examined  them.  He  has  always  said  there  is  a 
very  good  landing-place  within  twenty  miles  of  here — 
a  place  Napoleon  selected !" 

A  pleasant  interlude  was  provided  by  tea,  and  as 
Mrs.  Guthrie,  her  old  hand  shaking  a  little,  poured  out 
a  delicious  cup  for  her  visitor,  and  pressed  on  her  a 
specially  nice  home-made  cake,  Mrs.  Otway  began  to 
think  that  in  the  past  she  had  perhaps  misjudged  Ma- 
jor Guthrie's  agreeable,  lively  mother. 

Suddenly  Mrs.  Guthrie  fixed  on  her  visitor  the  pene- 
trating blue  eyes  which  were  so  like  those  of  her  son, 
and  which  were  indeed  the  only  feature  of  her  very 
handsome  face  she  had  transmitted  to  her  only  child. 

"I  think  you  know  my  son  very  well?"  she  observed 
suavely. 

Rather  to  her  own  surprise,  Mrs.  Otway  grew  a 
little  pink.  "Yes,"  she  said.  "Major  Guthrie  and  I 
are  very  good  friends.  He  has  sometimes  been  most 
kind  in  giving  me  advice  about  my  money  matters." 

"Ah,  well,  he  does  that  to  a  good  many  people. 
You'd  be  amused  to  know  how  often  he's  asked  to  be 


Good  Old  Anna  159 

trustee  to  a  marriage  settlement,  and  so  on.  But  I've 
lately  supposed,  Mrs.  Otway,  that  Alick  has  made  a 
kind  of — well,  what  shall  I  say? — a  kind  of  sister  of 
you.  He  seems  so  fond  of  your  girl,  too;  he  always 
has  liked  young  people." 

"Yes,  that's  very  true,"  said  Mrs.  Otway  eagerly. 
"Major  Guthrie  has  always  been  most  kind  to  Rose." 
And  then  she  smiled  happily,  and  added,  as  if  to  her- 
self, "Most  people  are." 

Somehow  this  irritated  the  old  lady.  "I  don't  want 
to  pry  into  anybody's  secrets,"  she  said — "least  of  all, 
my  son's.  But  I  should  like  to  be  so  far  frank  with 
you  as  to  ask  you  if  Alick  has  ever  talked  to  you  of  the 
Trepells?" 

"The  Trepells?"  repeated  Mrs.  Otway  slowly.  "No, 
I  don't  think  so.  But  wait  a  moment — are  they  the 
people  with  whom  he  sometimes  goes  and  stays  in 
Sussex?" 

"Yes;  he  stayed  with  them  just  after  Christmas. 
Then  he  has  talked  to  you  of  them  ?" 

"I  don't  think  he's  ever  exactly  talked  of  them,"  an- 
swered Mrs.  Otway.  She  was  trying  to  remember 
what  it  was  that  Major  Guthrie  had  said.  Wasn't  it 
something  implying  that  he  was  going  there  to  please 
his  mother — that  he  would  far  rather  stay  at  home? 
But  she  naturally  did  not  put  into  words  this  vague 
recollection  of  what  he  had  said  about  these — yes,  these 
Trepells.  "It's  an  odd  name,  and  yet  it  seems  familiar 
to  me,"  she  said  hesitatingly. 

"It's  familiar  to  you  because  they  are  the  owners  of 
the  celebrated  'Trepell's  Polish,'  "  said  the  old  lady 
rather  sharply.  "But  they're  exceedingly  nice  people. 
And  it's  my  impression  that  Alick  is  thinking  very  seri- 


160  Good  Old  Anna 

ously  of  the  elder  daughter.  There  are  only  two 
daughters — nice,  old-fashioned  girls,  brought  up  by  a 
nice,  old-fashioned  mother.  The  mother  was  the 
younger  daughter  of  Lord  Dunsmuir,  and  the  Duns- 
muirs  were  friends  of  the  Guthries — I  mean  of  my 
husband's  people — since  the  year  one.  Their  London 
house  is  in  Grosvenor  Square.  When  I  call  Maisie 
Trepell  a  girl,  I  do  not  mean  that  she  is  so  very  much 
younger  than  my  son  as  to  make  the  thought  of  such  a 
marriage  absurd.  She  is  nearer  thirty  than  twenty, 
and  he  is  forty-six." 

"Is  she  the  young  lady  who  came  to  stay  with  you 
some  time  ago  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Otway. 

She  was  so  much  surprised,  in  a  sense  so  much  dis- 
turbed, by  this  unexpected  confidence  that  she  really 
hardly  knew  what  she  was  saying.  She  had  never 
thought  of  Major  Guthrie  as  a  marrying  man.  For 
one  thing,  she  had  frequently  had  occasion  to  see  him, 
not  only  with  her  own  daughter,  but  with  other  girls, 
and  he  had  certainly  never  paid  them  any  special  at- 
tention. But  now  she  did  remember  vividly  the  fact 
that  a  young  lady  had  come  and  paid  quite  a  long  visit 
here  before  Easter.  But  she  remembered  also  that 
Major  Guthrie  had  been  away  at  the  time. 

"Yes,  Maisie  came  for  ten  days.  Unfortunately, 
Alick  had  to  go  away  before  she  left,  for  he  had  taken 
an  early  spring  fishing  with  a  friend.  But  I  thought — 
in  fact,  I  rather  hoped  at  the  time — that  he  was  very 
much  disappointed." 

"Yes,  he  naturally  must  have  been,  if  what  you  say 

is "  and  then  she  stopped  short,  for  she  did  not  like 

to  say  "if  what  you  say  is  true,"  so  "if  what  you  say  is 
likely  to  come  to  pass,"  she  ended  vaguely. 


Good  Old  Anna  161 

"I  hope  it  will  come  to  pass."  Mrs.  Guthrie  spoke 
very  seriously,  and  once  more  she  fixed  her  deep  blue 
eyes  on  her  visitor's  face.  "I'm  seventy-one,  not  very 
old  as  people  count  age  nowadays,  but  still  I've  never 
been  a  strong  woman,  and  I  have  a  weak  heart.  I 
should  not  like  to  leave  my  son  to  a  lonely  life  and  to  a 
lonely  old  age.  He's  very  reserved — he  hasn't  made 
many  friends  in  his  long  life.  And  I  thought  it  pos- 
sible he  might  have  confided  to  you  rather  than  to  me." 

"No,  he  never  spoke  of  the  matter  to  me  at  all;  in 
fact,  we  have  never  even  discussed  the  idea  of  his  mar- 
rying," said  Mrs.  Otway  slowly. 

"Well,  forget  what  I've  said !" 

But  Mrs.  Guthrie's  visitor  went  on,  a  little  breath- 
lessly and  impulsively:  "I  quite  understand  how  you 
feel  about  Major  Guthrie,  and  I  daresay  he  would  be 
happier  married.  Most  people  are,  I  think." 

She  got  up;  it  was  nearly  six — time  for  her  to  be 
starting  on  her  walk  back  to  Witanbury. 

Obeying  a  sudden  impulse,  she  bent  down  and  kissed 
the  old  lady  good-bye.  There  was  no  guile,  no  taint 
of  suspiciousness,  in  Mary  Otway's  nature. 

Mrs.  Guthrie  had  the  grace  to  feel  a  little  ashamed. 

"I  hope  you'll  come  again  soon,  my  dear."  She  was 
surprised  to  feel  how  smooth  and  how  young  was  the 
texture  of  Mrs.  Otway's  soft,  generously-lipped  mouth* 
and  rounded  cheek. 

There  rose  a  feeling  of  real  regret  in  her  cynical  old 
heart.  "She  likes  him  better  than  she  knows,  and  far 
better  than  I  thought  she  did !"  she  said  to  herself,  as 
she  watched  the  still  light,  still  singularly  graceful- 
looking  figure  hurrying  away  towards  the  house. 

As  for  Mrs.  Otway,  she  felt  oppressed,  and  yes,  a 


162  Good  Old  Anna 

little  pained,  by  the  old  lady's  confidence.  That  what 
she  had  just  been  told  might  not  be  true  did  not  occur 
to  her.  What  more  natural  than  that  Major  Guthrie 
should  like  a  nice  girl — one,  too,  who  was,  it  seemed, 
half  Scotch?  The  Trepells  were  probably  in  London 
even  now — she  had  seen  it  mentioned  in  a  paper  that 
every  one  was  still  staying  on  in  town.  If  so,  Major 
Guthrie  was  doubtless  constantly  in  their  company; 
and  the  letter  she  had  so — well,  not  exactly  longed  for, 
but  certainly  expected,  might  even  now  be  lying  on  the 
table  in  the  hall  of  the  Trellis  House,  informing  her  of 
his  engagement ! 

She  remembered  now  what  she  had  heard  of  the 
Trepells.  It  concerned  the  great,  the  almost  limitless, 
wealth  brought  in  by  their  wonderful  polish.  She 
found  it  difficult  to  think  of  Major  Guthrie  as  a  very 
rich  man.  Of  course,  he  would  always  remain,  what 
he  was  now,  a  quiet,  unassuming  gentleman;  but  all 
the  same,  she,  Mary  Otway,  did  feel  that  somehow  this 
piece  of  news  made  it  impossible  for  her  to  accept  the 
loan  he  had  so  kindly  and  so  delicately  forced  on  her. 

Mrs.  Otway  had  a  lively,  a  too  lively,  imagination, 
and  it  seemed  to  her  as  if  it  was  Miss  Trepell's  money 
which  lay  in  the  envelope  now  locked  away  in  her  writ- 
ing-table drawer.  Indeed,  had  she  known  exactly  where 
Major  Guthrie  was  just  now,  she  would  have  returned 
it  to  him.  But  supposing  he  had  already  started  for 
France,  and  the  registered  letter  came  back  and  was 
opened  by  his  mother — how  dreadful  that  would  be! 

When  she  reached  home,  and  walked  through  into 
her  cool,  quiet  house,  Mrs.  Otway  was  quite  surprised 
to  find  that  there  was  no  letter  from  Major  Guthrie 
lying  for  her  on  the  hall  table. 


CHAPTER   XV 

ROSE  OTWAY  ran  up  to  her  room  and  locked  the 
door.     She  had  fled  there  to  read  her  first  love- 
letter. 


DARLING  ROSE,  —  This  is  only  to  tell  you  that  I 
love  you.  I  have  been  writing  letters  to  you  in  my 
heart  ever  since  I  went  away.  But  this  is  the  first  mo- 
ment I  have  been  able  to  put  one  down  on  paper. 
Father  and  mother  never  leave  me  —  that  sounds  ab- 
surd, but  it's  true.  If  father  isn't  there,  then  mother  is. 
Mother  comes  into  my  room  after  I  am  in  bed,  and 
tucks  me  up,  just  as  she  used  to  do  when  I  was  a  little 
boy. 

"It's  a  great  rush,  for  what  I  have  so  longed  for  is 
going  to  happen,  so  you  must  not  be  surprised  :f  you 
do  not  have  another  letter  from  me  for  some  time.  But 
you  will  know,  my  darling  love,  that  I  am  thinking  of 
you  all  the  time.  I  am  so  happy,  Rose  —  I  feel  as  if 
God  has  given  me  everything  I  ever  wanted  all  at  once. 

"Your  own  devoted 

"JERVIS." 

And  then  there  was  a  funny  little  postscript,  which 
made  her  smile  through  her  tears:  "You  will  think 
this  letter  all  my  —  'I.'  But  that  doesn't  really  matter 
now,  as  you  and  I  are  one  !" 

Rose  soon  learnt  her  first  love-letter  by  heart.  She 
made  a  little  silk  envelope  for  it,  and  wore  it  on  her 

163 


164  Good  Old  Anna 

heart.  It  was  like  a  bit  of  Jervis  himself — direct,  sim- 
ple, telling  her  all  she  wanted  to  know,  yet  leaving 
much  unsaid.  Rose  had  once  been  shown  a  love-letter 
in  which  the  word  "kiss"  occurred  thirty-four  times. 
She  was  glad  that  there  was  nothing  of  that  sort  in 
Jervis's  letter,  and  yet  she  longed  with  a  piteous,  aching 
longing  to  feel  once  more  his  arms  clasping  her  close, 
his  lips  trembling  on  hers.  .  .  . 

At  last  her  mother  asked  her  casually,  "Has  Jervis 
Blake  written  to  you,  my  darling?"  And  she  said, 
"Yes,  mother;  once.  I  think  he's  busy,  getting  his 
outfit." 

"Ah,  well,  they  won't  think  of  sending  out  a  boy  as 
young  as  that,  even  if  Major  Guthrie  was  right  in 
thinking  our  Army  is  going  to  France."  And  Rose  to 
that  had  made  no  answer.  She  was  convinced  that 
Jervis  was  going  on  active  service.  There  was  one 
sentence  in  his  letter  which  could  mean  nothing  else. 

Life  in  Witanbury,  after  that  first  week  of  war, 
settled  down  much  as  before.  There  was  a  general 
impression  that  everything  was  going  very  well.  The 
brave  little  Belgians  were  defending  their  country  with 
skill  and  tenacity,  and  the  German  Army  was  being 
"held  up." 

The  Close  was  full  of  mild  amateur  strategists, 
headed  by  the  Dean  himself.  Great  as  had  been,  and 
was  still,  his  admiration  for  Germany,  Dr.  Haworth 
was  of  course  an  Englishman  first;  and  every  day, 
when  opening  his  morning  paper,  he  expected  to  learn 
that  there  had  been  another  Trafalgar.  He  felt  cer- 
tain that  the  German  Fleet  was  sure  to  make,  as  he 
expressed  it,  "a  dash  for  it."  Germany  was  too  gal- 


Good  Old  Anna  165 

lant  a  nation,  and  the  Germans  were  too  proud  of 
their  fleet,  to  keep  their  fighting  ships  in  harbour.  The 
Dean  of  Witanbury,  like  the  vast  majority  of  his  coun- 
trymen and  countrywomen,  still  regarded  War  as  a 
great  game  governed  by  certain  well-known  rules  which 
both  sides,  as  a  matter  of  course,  would  follow  and 
abide  by. 

The  famous  cathedral  city  was  doing  "quite  nicely" 
in  the  matter  of  recruiting.  And  the  largest  local  em- 
ployer of  labour,  a  man  who  owned  a  group  of  ladies' 
high-grade  boot  and  shoe  factories,  generously  decided 
that  he  would  permit  ten  per  cent,  of  those  of  his  men 
who  were  of  military  age  to  enlist ;  he  actually  prom- 
ised as  well  to  keep  their  places  open,  and  to  give  their 
wives,  or  their  mothers,  as  the  case  might  be,  half 
wages  for  the  first  six  months  of  war. 

A  good  many  people  felt  aggrieved  when  it  became 
known  that  Lady  Bethune  was  not  going  to  give  her 
usual  August  garden  party.  She  evidently  did  not  hold 
with  the  excellent  suggestion  that  England  should  now 
take  as  her  motto  "Business  as  Usual."  True,  a  gar- 
den-party is  not  exactly  business — still,  it  is  one  of 
those  pleasures  which  the  great  ladies  of  a  country 
neighbourhood  find  it  hard  to  distinguish  from  duties. 

Yes,  life  went  on  quite  curiously  as  usual  during  the, 
second  week  of  the  Great  War,  and  to  many  of  the 
more  well-to-do  people  of  Witanbury,  only  brought  in 
its  wake  a  series  of  agreeable  "thrills"  and  mild  excite- 
ments. 

Of  course  this  was  not  quite  the  case  with  the  in- 
mates of  the  Trellis  House.  Poor  old  Anna,  for  in- 
stance, very  much  disliked  the  process  of  Registration. 
Still,  it  was  made  as  easy  and  pleasant  to  her  as  pos- 


166  Good  Old  Anna 

sible,  and  Mrs.  Otway  and  Rose  both  accompanied  her 
to  the  police  station.  There,  nothing  could  have  been 
more  kindly  than  the  manner  of  the  police  inspector 
who  handed  Anna  Bauer  her  "permit."  He  went  to 
some  trouble  in  order  to  explain  to  her  exactly  what  it 
was  she  might  and  might  not  do. 

As  Anna  seldom  had  any  occasion  to  travel  as  far  as 
five  miles  from  Witanbury  Close,  her  registration 
brought  with  it  no  hardship  at  all.  Still,  she  was  sur- 
prised and  hurt  to  find  herself  described  as  "an  enemy 
alien."  She  could  assure  herself,  even  now,  that  she 
had  no  bad  feelings  against  England — no,  none  at  all ! 

Though  neither  her  good  faithful  servant  nor  her 
daughter  guessed  the  fact,  Mrs.  Otway  was  the  one 
inmate  of  the  Trellis  House  to  whom  the  War,  so  far, 
brought  real  unease.  She  felt  jarred  and  upset — anx- 
ious, too,  as  she  had  never  yet  been,  about  her  money 
matters. 

More  and  more  she  missed  Major  Guthrie,  and  yet 
the  thought  of  him  brought  discomfort,  almost  pain,  in 
its  train.  With  every  allowance  made,  he  was  surely 
treating  her  in  a  very  cavalier  manner.  How  odd  of 
him  not  to  have  written !  Whenever  he  had  been  away 
before,  he  had  always  written  to  her,  generally  more 
than  once ;  and  now,  when  she  felt  that  their  friendship 
had  suddenly  come  closer,  he  left  her  without  a  line. 

Her  only  comfort,  during  those  strange  days  of  rest- 
less waiting  for  news  which  never  came,  were  her  daily 
talks  with  the  Dean.  Their  mutual  love  and  knowl- 
edge of  Germany  had  always  been  a  strong  link  be- 
tween them,  and  it  was  stronger  now  than  ever. 

Alone  of  all  the  people  she  saw,  Dr.  Haworth  man- 
aged to  make  her  feel  at  charity  with  Germany  while 


Good  Old  Anna  167 

yet  quite  confident  with  regard  to  her  country's  part 
in  the  War.  He  did  not  say  so  in  so  many  words,  but 
it  became  increasingly  clear  to  his  old  friend  and  neigh- 
bour, that  the  Dean  believed  that  the  Germans  would 
soon  be  conquered,  on  land  by  Russia  and  by  France, 
while  the  British,  following  their  good  old  rule,  would 
defeat  them  at  sea. 

Many  a  time,  during  those  early  days  of  war,  Mrs. 
Otway  felt  a  thrill  of  genuine  pity  for  Germany.  True, 
the  Militarist  Party  there  deserved  the  swift  defeat  that 
was  coming  on  them;  they  deserved  it  now,  just  as  the 
French  Empire  had  deserved  it  in  1870,  though  Mrs. 
Otway  could  not  believe  that  modern  Germany  was  as 
arrogant  and  confident  as  had  been  the  France  of  the 
Second  Empire. 

Much  as  she  missed  Major  Guthrie,  she  was  some- 
times glad  that  he  was  not  there  to — no,  not  to  crow 
over  her,  he  was  incapable  of  doing  that,  but  to  be 
proved  right. 

There  was  a  great  deal  of  talk  of  the  mysterious  pas- 
sage of  Russians  through  the  country.  Some  said 
there  were  twenty  thousand,  some  a  hundred  thousand, 
and  the  stories  concerning  this  secret  army  of  aveng- 
ers grew  more  and  more  circumstantial.  They  reached 
Witanbury  Close  from  every  quarter.  And  though  for 
a  long  time  the  Dean  held  out,  he  at  last  had  to  admit 
that,  yes,  he  did  believe  that  a  Russian  army  was  being 
swiftly,  secretly  transferred,  via  Archangel  and  Scot- 
land, to  the  Continent !  More  than  one  person  declared 
that  they  had  actually  seen  Cossacks  peeping  out  of  the 
windows  of  the  trains  which,  with  blinds  down,  were 
certainly  rushing  through  Witanbury  station,  one  every 
ten  minutes,  through  each  short  summer  night. 


1 68  Good  Old  Anna 

All  the  people  the  Otways  knew  took  great  glory  and 
comfort  in  these  rumours,  but  Mrs.  Otway  heard  the 
news  with  very  mixed  feelings.  It  seemed  to  her 
scarcely  fair  that  a  Russian  army  should  come,  as  it 
were,  on  the  sly,  to  attack  the  Germans  in  France — 
and  she  did  not  like  to  feel  that  England  would  for 
ever  and  for  aye  have  to  be  grateful  to  Russia  for  hav- 
ing sent  an  army  to  her  help. 

It  was  the  morning  of  the  i8th  of  August — exactly  a 
fortnight,  that  is,  since  England's  declaration  of  war 
on  Germany.  Coming  down  to  breakfast,  Mrs.  Ot- 
way suddenly  realised  what  a  very,  very  long  fortnight 
this  had  been — the  longest  fortnight  in  her  life  as  a 
grown-up  woman.  She  felt  what  she  very  seldom  was, 
depressed,  and  as  she  went  into  the  dining-room  she 
was  sorry  to  see  that  there  was  a  sullen  look  on  old 
Anna's  face. 

"Good  morning!"  she  said  genially  in  German.  And 
in  reply  the  old  servant,  after  a  muttered  "Good  morn- 
ing, gracious  lady,"  went  on,  in  a  tone  of  suppressed 
anger,  "Did  you  not  tell  me  that  the  English  were  not 
going  to  fight  my  people?  That  it  was  all  a  mistake?" 

Mrs.  Otway  looked  surprised.  "Yes,  I  feel  sure  that 
no  soldiers  are  going  abroad,"  she  said  quietly.  "The 
Dean  says  that  our  Army  is  to  be  kept  at  home,  to  de- 
fend our  shores,  Anna." 

She  spoke  rather  coldly;  there  was  a  growing  im- 
pression in  Witanbury  that  the  Germans  might  try  to 
invade  England,  and  behave  here  as  they  were  behav- 
ing in  Belgium.  Though  Mrs.  Otway  and  Rose  tried 
to  believe  that  the  horrible  stories  of  burning  and  mur- 
der then  taking  place  in  Flanders  were  exaggerated, 


Good  Old  Anna  169 

still  some  of  them  were  very  circumstantial  and,  in 
fact,  obviously  true. 

Languidly,  for  there  never  seemed  any  real  news 
nowadays,  she  opened  wide  her  newspaper.  And  then 
her  heart  gave  a  leap !  Printed  right  across  the  page, 
in  huge  black  letters,  ran  the  words : 

"BRITISH  EXPEDITIONARY  FORCE  IN   FRANCE." 
And  underneath,  in  smaller  type : 
"LANDED  AT  BOULOGNE  WITHOUT  A  SINGLE  CASUALTY." 

Then  Major  Guthrie  had  been  right  and  the  Deari 
wrong?  And  this  was  why  Anna  had  spoken  as  she 
had  done  just  now,  in  that  rather  rude  and  injured 
tone? 

Later  in  the  morning,  when  she  met  the  Dean,  he 
showed  himself,  as  might  have  been  expected,  very 
frank  and  genial  about  the  matter. 

"I  have  to  admit  that  I  was  wrong,"  he  observed; 
"quite  wrong.  I  certainly  thought  it  impossible  that 
any  British  troops  could  cross  the  Channel  till  a  de- 
cisive fleet  action  had  been  fought.  And,  well — I  don't 
mind  saying  to  you,  Mrs.  Otway,  I  still  think  it  a  pity 
that  we  have  sent  our  Army  abroad." 

Three  days  later  Rose  and  her  mother  each  received 
a  quaint-looking  postcard  from  "Somewhere  in 
France."  There  was  neither  postmark  nor  date.  The 
first  four  words  were  printed,  but  what  was  really  very 
strange  was  the  fact  that  the  sentences  written  in  were 
almost  similar  in  each  case.  But  whereas  Jervis  Blake 


170  Good  Old  Anna 

wrote  his  few  words  in  English,  Major  Guthrie's  few 
words  were  written  in  French. 

Jervis  Blake's  postcard  ran : 

"I  AM  QUITE  WELL  and  very  happy.  This  is  a  glori- 
ous country.  I  will  write  a  letter  soon."  And  then 
"J.  B." 

That  of  Major  Guthrie : 

"I  AM  QUITE  WELL."  Then,  in  queer  archaic 
French,  "and  all  goes  well  with  me.  I  trust  it  is  the 
same  with  thee.  Will  write  soon." 

But  he,  mindful  of  the  fact  that  it  was  an  open  post- 
card, with  your  Scotchman's  true  caution,  had  not  even 
added  his  initials. 

Mrs.  Otway's  only  comment  on  hearing  that  Jervis 
Blake  had  written  Rose  a  postcard  from  France,  had 
been  the  words,  said  feelingly,  and  with  a  sigh,  "Ah, 
well !  So  he  has  gone  out  too  ?  He  is  very  young  to 
see  something  of  real  war.  But  I  expect  that  it  will 
make  a  man  of  him,  poor  boy." 

For  a  moment  Rose  had  longed  to  throw  herself  in 
her  mother's  arms  and  tell  her  the  truth ;  then  she  had 
reminded  herself  that  to  do  so  would  not  be  fair  to 
Jervis.  Jervis  would  have  told  his  people  of  their  en- 
gagement if  she  had  allowed  him  to  do  so.  It  was 
she  who  had  prevented  it.  And  then — and  then — Rose 
also  knew,  deep  in  her  heart,  that  if  anything  happened 
to  Jervis,  she  would  far  rather  bear  the  agony  alone. 
She  loved  her  mother  dearly,  but  she  told  herself,  with* 
the  curious  egoism  of  youth,  that  her  mother  would  not 
understand. 

Rose  had  been  four  years  old  when  her  father  died ; 
she  thought  she  could  remember  him,  but  it  was  a  very 
dim,  shadowy  memory.  She  did  not  realise,  even  now, 


Good  Old  Anna  171 

that  her  mother  had  once  loved,  once  lost,  once  suf- 
fered. She  did  not  believe  that  her  mother  knew  any- 
thing of  love — of  real  love,  of  true  love,  of  such  lore 
as  now  bound  herself  to  Jervis  Blake. 

Her  mother  no  doubt  supposed  Rose's  friendship 
with  Jervis  Blake  to  be  like  her  own  friendship  with 
Major  Guthrie — a  cold,  sensible,  placid  affair.  In 
fact,  she  had  said,  with  a  smile,  "It's  rather  amusing, 
isn't  it,  that  Jervis  should  write  to  you,  and  Major 
Guthrie  to  me,  by  the  same  post  ?" 

But  neither  mother  nor  daughter  had  offered  to 
show  her  postcard  to  the  other.  There  was  so  little 
on  them  that  it  had  not  seemed  necessary.  Of  the  two, 
it  was  Mrs.  Otway  who  felt  a  little  shy.  The  wording 
of  Major  Guthrie's  postcard  was  so  peculiar!  Of 
course  he  did  not  know  French  well,  or  he  would  have 
put  what  he  wanted  to  say  differently.  He  would  have 
said  "you"  instead  of  "thee."  She  was  rather  glad 
that  her  dear  little  Rose  had  not  asked  to  see  it.  Still, 
its  arrival  mollified  her  sore,  hurt  feeling  that  he  might 
have  written  before.  Instead  of  tearing  it  up,  as  she 
had  always  done  the  letters  Major  Guthrie  had  written 
to  her  in  the  old  days  that  now  seemed  so  very  long 
ago,  she  slipped  that  curious  war  postcard  inside  the 
envelope  in  which  were  placed  his  bank-notes. 


CHAPTER    XVI 

AUGUST  23,  1914!  A  date  which  will  be  im- 
printed on  the  heart,  and  on  the  tablets  of  mem- 
ory, of  every  Englishman  and  Englishwoman  of  our 
generation.  To  the  majority  of  thinking  folk,  that 
was  the  last  Sunday  we  any  of  us  spent  in  the  old, 
prosperous,  happy,  confiding  England — the  England 
who  considered  that  might  as  a  matter  of  course  fol- 
lows right — the  England  whose  grand  old  motto  was 
"Victory  as  Usual,"  and  to  whom  the  word  defeat 
was  without  significance. 

Almost  the  whole  population  of  Witanbury  seemed 
to  have  felt  a  common  impulse  to  attend  the  evening 
service  in  the  cathedral.  They  streamed  in  until  the 
stately  black-gowned  vergers  were  quite  worried  to 
find  seats  for  the  late  comers.  In  that  great  congrega- 
tion there  was  already  a  certain  leaven  of  anxious 
hearts — not  over-anxious,  you  understand,  but  natu- 
rally uneasy  because  those  near  and  dear  to  them  had 
gone  away  to  a  foreign  country,  to  fight  an  unknown 
foe. 

It  was  known  that  the  minor  canon  who  was  on  the 
rota  to  preach  this  evening  had  gracefully  yielded  the 
privilege  to  the  Dean,  and  this  accounted,  in  part  at 
least,  for  the  crowds  who  filled  the  great  building. 

When  Dr.  Haworth  mounted  the  pulpit  and  prepared 
to  begin  his  sermon,  which  he  had  striven  to  make 
worthy  of  the  occasion,  he  felt  a  thrill  of  satisfaction 
as  his  eyes  suddenly  lighted  on  the  man  whom  he  still 

172 


Good  Old  Anna  173 

instinctively  thought  of  by  his  old  name  of  "Manfred 
Hegner." 

Yes,  there  they  were,  Hegner  and  his  wife,  at  the 
end  of  a  row  of  chairs,  a  long  way  down;  she  looking 
very  pretty  and  graceful,  instinctively  well-dressed  in 
her  grey  muslin  Sunday  gown  and  wide  floppy  hat — 
looking,  indeed,  "quite  the  lady,"  as  more  than  one  of 
her  envious  neighbours  had  said  to  themselves  when 
seeing  her  go  by  on  her  husband's  arm. 

Because  of  the  presence  of  this  man  who,  though 
German-born,  had  elected  to  become  an  Englishman, 
and  devote  his  very  considerable  intelligence — the  Dean 
prided  himself  on  his  knowledge  of  human  nature,  and 
on  his  quickness  in  detecting  humble  talent — to  the 
service  of  his  adopted  country,  the  sermon  was  perhaps 
a  thought  more  fair,  even  cordial,  to  Britain's  formi- 
dable enemy,  than  it  would  otherwise  have  been. 

The  messages  of  the  King  and  of  Lord  Kitchener  to 
the  Expeditionary  Force  gave  the  Dean  a  fine  text  for 
his  discourse,  and  he  paid  a  very  moving  and  eloquent 
tribute  to  the  Silence  of  the  People.  He  reminded  his 
hearers  that  even  if  they,  in  quiet  Witanbury,  knew 
nothing  of  the  great  and  stirring  things  which  were 
happening  elsewhere,  there  must  have  been  thousands 
— it  might  truly  be  said  tens  of  thousands — of  men  and 
women  who  had  known  that  our  soldiers  were  leaving 
their  country  for  France.  And  yet  not  a  word  had 
been  said,  not  a  hint  conveyed,  either  privately  or  in 
the  press.  He  himself  had  one  who  was  very  dear  and 
near  to  his  own  dearest  and  nearest,  in  that  Expedi- 
tionary Force,  and  yet  not  a  word  had  been  breathed, 
even  to  him. 

Then  he  went  on  to  a  sadder  and  yet  in  its  way  an 


174  Good  Old  Anna 

even  more  glorious  theme — the  loss  of  His  Majesty's 
good  ship  Amphion.  He  described  the  splendid  disci- 
pline of  the  men,  the  magnificent  courage  of  the  cap- 
tain, who,  when  recovering  from  a  shock  which  had 
stretched  him  insensible,  had  rushed  to  stop  the  en- 
gines. He  told  with  what  composure  the  men  had 
fallen  in,  and  how  everything  had  been  done,  without 
hurry  or  confusion,  in  the  good  old  British  sea  way; 
and  how,  thanks  to  that,  twenty  minutes  after  the  Am- 
phion had  struck  a  mine,  men,  officers,  and  captain 
had  left  the  ship. 

And  after  he  had  finished  his  address — he  kept  it 
quite  short,  for  Dr.  Haworth  was  one  of  those  rare 
and  wise  men  who  never  preach  a  long  sermon — the 
whole  congregation  rose  to  their  feet  and  sang  "God 
Save  the  King." 

This  golden  feeling  of  security,  of  happy  belief  that 
all  was,  and  must  be,  well,  lasted  till  the  following  af- 
ternoon. And  the  first  of  the  dwellers  in  Witanbury 
Close  to  have  that  comfortable  feeling  shattered — 
shattered  for  ever — was  Mrs.  Otway. 

She  was  about  to  pay  a  late  call  on  Mrs.  Robey,  who, 
after  all,  had  not  taken  her  children  to  the  seaside. 
Rather  to  the  amusement  of  his  neighbours,  Mr.  Ro- 
bey, who  was  moving  heaven  and  earth  to  get  some 
kind  of  War  Office  job,  had  bluntly  declared  that, 
however  much  people  might  believe  in  "business  as 
usual,"  he  was  not  going  to  practice  "pleasure  as 
usual"  while  his  country  was  at  war. 

Mrs.  Otway  stepped  out  of  her  gate,  and  before 
turning  to  the  right  she  looked  to  the  left,  as  people 
jvill.  The  Dean  was  at  the  corner,  apparently  on  his 


Good  Old  Anna  175 

way  back  from  the  town.  He  held  an  open  paper  in 
his  hand,  and  though  that  was  not  in  itself  a  strange 
thing,  there  suddenly  came  over  the  woman  who  stood 
looking  at  him  a  curious  feeling  of  unreasoning  fear, 
a  queer  prevision  of  evil.  She  began  walking  towards 
him,  and  he,  after  hesitating  for  a  moment,  came  for- 
ward to  meet  her. 

"There's  serious  news!"  he  cried.  "Namur  has 
fallen!" 

Now,  only  that  morning  Mrs.  Otway  had  read  in  a 
leading  article  the  words,  "Namur  is  impregnable,  or, 
if  not  impregnable,  will  certainly  hold  out  for  months. 
That  this  is  so  is  fortunate,  for  we  cannot  disguise 
from  ourselves  that  Namur  is  the  key  to  France." 

"Are  you  sure  that  the  news  is  true?"  she  asked 
quietly,  and,  disturbed  as  he  was  himself,  the  Dean 
was  surprised  to  see  the  change  which  had  come  over 
his  neighbour's  face;  it  suddenly  looked  aged  and 
grey. 

"Yes,  I'm  afraid  it's  true — in  fact,  it's  official.  Still, 
I  don't  know  that  the  falling  of  a  fortress  should  really 
affect  our  Expeditionary  Force." 

Mary  Otway  did  not  pay  her  proposed  call  on  Mrs. 
Robey.  Instead,  she  retraced  her  steps  into  the  Trellis 
House,  and  looked  eagerly  through  the  papers  of  the 
last  few  days.  She  no  longer  trusted  the  Dean  and  his 
easy-going  optimism.  The  fall  of  Namur  without 
effect  on  the  Expeditionary  Force?  As  she  read  on, 
even  she  saw  that  it  was  bound  to  have — perhaps  it 
had  already  had — an  overwhelming  effect  on  the  for- 
tunes of  the  little  British  Army. 

From  that  hour  onwards  a  heavy  cloud  of  suspense 
and  of  fear  hung  over  Witanbury  Close:  over  the 


176  Good  Old  Anna 

Deanery,  where  the  cherished  youngest  daughter  tried 
in  vain  to  be  ''brave,"  and  to  conceal  her  miserable 
state  of  suspense  from  her  father  and  mother;  over 
"Robey's,"  all  of  whose  young  men  were  in  the  Expe- 
ditionary Force;  and  very  loweringly  over  the  Trellis 
House. 

What  was  now  happening  over  there,  in  France,  or 
in  Flanders?  People  asked  each  other  the  question 
with  growing  uneasiness. 

The  next  day,  that  is,  on  the  Tuesday,  sinister  ru- 
mours swept  over  Witanbury — rumours  that  the  Brit- 
ish had  suffered  a  terrible  defeat  at  a  place  called 
Mons. 

In  her  restlessness  and  eager  longing  for  news,  Mrs. 
Otway  after  tea  went  into  the  town.  She  had  an  ex- 
cuse, an  order  to  give  in  at  the  Stores,  and  there  the 
newly-named  Alfred  Head  came  forward,  and  attended 
on  her,  as  usual,  himself. 

"There  seems  to  be  serious  news,"  he  said  respect- 
fully. "I  am  told  that  the  English  Army  has  been  en- 
circled, much  as  was  the  French  Army  at  Sedan  in 
1870." 

As  he  spoke,  fixing  his  prominent  eyes  on  her  face, 
Mr.  Head's  customer  now  suddenly  felt  an  inexplicable 
shrinking  from  this  smooth-tongued  German-born 
man. 

"Oh,  we  must  hope  it  is  not  as  bad  as  that,"  she 
exclaimed  hastily.  "Have  you  any  real  reason  for 
believing  such  a  thing  to  be  true,  Mr.  Heg — I  mean, 
Mr.  Head?" 

And  he  answered  regretfully,  "One  of  my  customers 
has  just  told  me  so,  ma'am.  He  said  the  news  had 


Good  Old  Anna  177 

come  from  London — that  is  my  only  reason  for  believ- 
ing it.    We  will  hope  it  is  a  mistake." 

After  leaving  the  Stores,  Mrs.  Otway,  following  a 
sudden  impulse,  began  walking  rather  quickly  down  the 
long  street  which  led  out  of  Witanbury  towards  the 
village  where  the  Guthries  lived.  Why  should  she  not 
go  out  and  pay  a  late  call  on  the  old  lady?  If  any  of 
these  dreadful  rumours  had  reached  Dorycote  House, 
Mrs.  Guthrie  must  surely  be  very  much  upset. 

Her  kind  thought  was  rewarded  by  a  sight  of  the 
letter  Major  Guthrie  had  left  to  be  posted  to  his  mother 
on  the  1 8th  of  August,  that  is,  on  the  day  when  was 
to  be  published  the  news  that  the  Expeditionary  Force 
had  landed  safely  in  France. 

The  letter  was,  like  its  writer,  kind,  thoughtful,  con- 
siderate; and  as  she  read  it  Mrs.  Otway  felt  a  little 
pang  of  jealous  pain.  She  wished  that  he  had  written 
her  a  letter  like  that,  instead  of  a  rather  ridiculous 
postcard.  Still,  as  she  read  the  measured,  reassuring 
sentences,  she  felt  soothed  and  comforted.  She  knew 
that  she  was  not  reasonable,  yet — yet  it  seemed  im- 
possible that  the  man  who  had  written  that  letter,  and 
the  many  like  him  who  were  out  there,  could  allow 
themselves  to  be  surrounded  and  captured — by  Ger- 
mans! 

"He  has  also  sent  me  a  rather  absurd  postcard," 
observed  the  old  lady  casually.  "I  say  absurd  because 
it  is  not  dated,  and  because  he  also  forgot  to  put  the 
name  of  the  place  where  he  wrote  it.  It  simply  says 
that  he  is  quite  well,  and  that  I  shall  hear  from  him  as 
soon  as  he  can  find  time  to  write  a  proper  letter." 

She  waited  a  few  moments,  and  then  went  on:  "Of 


178  Good  Old  Anna 

course  I  felt  a  little  upset  when  I  realised  that  Alick 
had  really  gone  on  active  service.  But  I  know  how  he 
would  have  felt  being  left  behind." 

Then,  rather  to  her  visitor's  discomfiture,  Mrs. 
Guthrie  turned  the  subject  away  from  her  son,  and 
from  what  was  going  on  in  France.  She  talked  de- 
terminedly of  quite  other  things — though  even  then 
she  could  not  help  going  very  near  the  subject. 

"I  understand,"  she  exclaimed,  "that  Lady  Bethune 
is  giving  up  her  garden-party  to-morrow!  I'm  told 
she  feels  that  it  would  be  wrong  to  be  merrymaking 
while  some  of  our  men  and  officers  may  be  righting 
and  dying.  But  I  quite  disagree,  and  I'm  sure,  my 
dear,  that  you  do  too.  Of  course  it  is  the  duty  of  the 
women  of  England,  at  such  a  time  as  this,  to  carry  on 
their  social  duties  exactly  as  usual." 

"I  can't  quite  make  up  my  mind  about  that,"  replied 
her  visitor  slowly. 

When  Mrs.  Otway  rose  to  go,  the  old  lady  suddenly 
softened.  "You'll  come  again  soon,  won't  you?"  she 
said  eagerly.  "Though  I  never  saw  two  people  more 
unlike,  still,  in  a  curious  kind  of  way,  you  remind  me 
of  Alick !  That  must  be  because  you  and  he  are  such 
friends.  I  suppose  he  wrote  to  you  before  leaving 
England  ?"  She  looked  rather  sharply  out  of  her  still 
bright  blue  eyes  at  the  woman  now  standing  before 
her. 

Mrs.  Otway  shook  her  head.  "No,  Major  Guthrie 
did  not  write  to  me  before  leaving  England." 

"Ah,  well,  he  was  very  busy,  and  my  son's  the  sort 
of  man  who  always  chooses  to  do  his  duty  before  he 
takes  his  pleasure.  He  can  write  quite  a  good  letter 
when  he  takes  the  trouble." 


Good  Old  Anna  179 

"Yes,  indeed  he  can,"  said  Mrs.  Otway  simply,  and 
Mrs.  Guthrie  smiled. 

As  she  walked  home,  Mary  Otway  pondered  a  little 
over  the  last  words  of  her  talk  with  Mrs.  Guthrie.  It 
was  true,  truer  than  Mrs.  Guthrie  knew,  that  she  and 
Major  Guthrie  were  friends.  A  man  does  not  press 
an  unsolicited  loan  of  a  hundred  pounds  on  a  woman 
unless  he  has  a  kindly  feeling  for  her;  still  less  does 
he  leave  her  a  legacy  in  his  will. 

And  then  there  swept  a  feeling  of  pain  over  her 
burdened  heart.  That  legacy,  which  she  had  only  con- 
sidered as  a  token  of  the  testator's  present  friendly 
feeling,  had  become  in  the  last  few  hours  an  ominous 
possibility.  She  suddenly  realised  that  Major  Guthrie, 
before  leaving  England,  had  made  what  Jervis  Blake 
had  once  called  "a  steeplechase  will." 

Rumours  soon  grew  into  certainties.  It  was  only 
too  true  that  the  British  Army  was  now  falling  back, 
back,  back,  righting  a  series  of  what  were  called  by 
the  unfamiliar  name  of  rearguard  actions;  and  at  last 
there  came  the  official  statement,  "Our  casualties  have 
been  very  heavy,  but  the  exact  numbers  are  not  yet 
known." 

After  that,  as  the  days  went  on,  Rose  Otway  began 
to  wear  a  most  ungirlish  look  of  strain  and  of  sus- 
pense; but  no  one,  to  her  secret  relief,  perceived  that 
she  looked  any  different — all  the  sympathy  of  the  Close 
was  concentrated  on  Edith  Haworth,  for  it  was  known 
that  the  cavalry  had  been  terribly  cut  up.  Still,  to- 
wards the  end  of  that  dreadful  week,  Rose's  mother 
suddenly  woke  up  to  the  fact  that  Rose  had  fallen  into 
the  way  of  walking  to  the  station  in  order  to  get  the 


180  Good  Old  Anna 

evening  paper  from  London  half  an  hour  before  it 
could  reach  the  Close. 

It  was  their  good  old  Anna  who  consoled  and  sus- 
tained the  girl  during  those  first  days  of  strain  and  of 
suspense.  Anna  was  never  tired  of  repeating  in  her 
comfortable,  cosy,  easy-going  way,  that  after  all  very 
few  soldiers  really  get  killed  in  battle.  She,  Anna, 
had  had  a  brother,  and  many  of  her  relations,  fighting 
in  1870,  and  only  one  of  them  all  had  been  killed. 

The  old  woman  kept  her  own  personal  feelings  en- 
tirely to  herself — and  indeed  those  feelings  were  very 
mixed.  Of  course  she  did  not  share  the  now  universal 
suspense,  surprise,  and  grief,  for  to  her  mind  it  was 
quite  right  and  natural  that  the  Germans  should  beat 
the  English.  What  would  have  been  really  most  dis- 
turbing and  unnatural  would  have  been  if  the  English 
had  beaten  the  Germans ! 

But  even  so  she  was  taken  aback  by  the  secret,  fierce 
exultation  which  Manfred  Hegner — she  could  not  yet 
bring  herself  to  call  him  Alfred  Head — displayed, 
when  he  and  she  were  left  for  three  or  four  minutes 
alone  by  his  wife,  Polly. 

Since  that  pleasant  evening  they  had  spent  together 
— it  now  seemed  a  long  time  ago,  yet  it  was  barely  a 
fortnight — Anna  had  fallen  into  the  way  of  going  to 
the  Stores  twice,  and  even  three  times,  a  week,  to  sup- 
per. Her  host  flattered  her  greatly  by  pointing  out  that 
the  information  she  had  given  him  concerning  Major 
Guthrie  and  the  Expeditionary  Force,  as  it  was  oddly 
called,  had  been  sound.  Frankly  he  had  exclaimed, 
'As  the  days  went  on  and  nothing  was  known,  I 
thought  you  must  have  been  mistaken,  Frau  Bauer. 
But  you  did  me  a  good  turn,  and  one  I  shall  not  forget ! 


Good  Old  Anna  181 

I  have  already  sold  some  of  the  goods  ordered  with  a 
view  to  soldier  customers,  for  they  were  goods  which 
can  be  useful  abroad,  and  I  hear  a  great  many  parcels 
will  soon  be  sent  out.  For  that  I  shall  open  a  special 
department !" 

To  her  pleased  surprise,  he  had  pressed  half  a  crown 
on  her;  and  after  a  little  persuasion  she  had  accepted 
it.  After  all,  she  had  a  right,  under  their  old  agree- 
ment, to  a  percentage  on  any  profit  she  brought  him! 
That  news  about  Major  Guthrie  had  thus  procured  a 
yery  easily  earned  half-crown,  even  more  easily  earned 
than  the  money  she  had  received  for  sending  off  the 
telegram  to  Spain.  Anna  hoped  that  similar  oppor- 
tunities of  doing  Mr.  Hegner  a  good  turn  would  often 
come  her  way.  But  still,  she  hated  this  war,  and  with 
the  whole  of  her  warm,  sentimental  German  heart  she 
hoped  that  Mr.  Jervis  Blake  would  soon  be  back  home 
safe  and  sound.  He  was  a  rich,  generous  young  gen- 
tleman, the  very  bridegroom  for  her  beloved  Miss 
Rose. 


CHAPTER    XVII 

SUNDAY,  the  3Oth  of  August.  But  oh,  what  a  dif- 
ferent Sunday  from  that  of  a  week  ago!  The 
morning  congregation  in  Witanbury  Cathedral  was 
larger  than  it  had  ever  been  before,  and  over  every 
man  and  woman  there  hung  an  awful  pall  of  sus- 
pense, and  yes,  of  fear,  as  to  what  the  morrow  might 
bring  forth. 

Both  the  post  and  the  Sunday  papers  were  late. 
They  had  not  even  been  delivered  by  church  time,  and 
that  added  greatly,  with  some  of  those  who  were  gath- 
ered there,  to  the  general  feeling  of  anxiety  and  un- 
ease. 

In  the  sermon  that  he  preached  that  day  the  Dean 
struck  a  stern  and  feeling  note.  He  told  his  hearers 
that  now  not  only  their  beloved  country,  but  each  man 
and  woman  before  him,  must  have  a  heart  for  every 
fate.  He,  the  speaker,  would  not  claim  any  special 
knowledge,  but  they  all  knew  that  the  situation  was 
very  serious.  Even  so,  it  would  be  a  great  mistake,  and 
a  great  wrong,  to  give  way  to  despair.  He  would  go 
further,  and  say  that  even  despondency  was  out  of 
place. 

Only  a  day  or  two  ago  he  had  been  offered,  and  he 
had  purchased,  the  diary  of  a  citizen  of  Witanbury 
written  over  a  hundred  years  ago,  and  from  a  feeling 
of  natural  curiosity  he  had  looked  up  the  entries  in 
the  August  of  that  year.  Moved  and  interested  indeed 
had  he  been  to  find  that  Witanbury  just  then  had  been 

182 


Good  Old  Anna  183 

expecting  a  descent  on  the  town  by  the  French,  and 
on  one  night  it  was  rumoured  that  a  strong  force  had 
actually  landed,  and  was  marching  on  the  city!  Yet 
the  writer  of  that  diary — he  was  only  a  humble  black- 
smith— had  put  in  simple  and  yet  very  noble  language 
his  conviction  that  old  England  would  never  go  down, 
if  only  she  remained  true  to  herself. 

It  was  this  fine  message  from  the  past  which  the 
Dean  brought  to  the  people  of  Witanbury  that  day. 
What  had  been  true  when  we  had  been  fighting  a  far 
greater  man  than  any  of  those  we  were  fighting  to-day 
— he  meant  of  course  Napoleon — was  even  truer  now 
than  then.  All  would  be,  must  be,  ultimately  well,  if 
England  to  herself  would  stay  but  true. 

A  few  of  those  who  listened  with  uplifted  hearts  to 
the  really  inspiriting  discourse,  noted  with  satisfaction 
that,  for  the  first  time  since  the  declaration  of  war,  Dr. 
Haworth  paid  no  tribute  to  the  enemy.  The  word 
"Germany"  did  not  even  pass  his  lips. 

And  then,  when  at  the  end  of  the  service  Mrs.  Ot- 
way  and  Rose  were  passing  through  the  porch,  Mrs. 
Otway  felt  herself  touched  on  the  arm.  She  turned 
round  quickly  to  find  Mrs.  Haworth  close  to  her. 

"I've  been  wondering  if  Rose  would  come  back  with 
me  and  see  Edith?  I'm  sorry  to  say  the  poor  child 
isn't  at  all  well  to-day.  And  so  we  persuaded  her  to 
stay  in  bed.  You  see" — she  lowered  her  voice,  and 
that  though  there  was  no  one  listening  to  them — "you 
see,  we  hear  privately  that  the  cavalry  were  very 
heavily  engaged  last  Wednesday,  and  that  the  casual- 
ties have  been  terribly  heavy.  My  poor  child  says  very 
little,  but  it's  evident  that  she's  so  miserably  anxious 
that  she  can  think  of  nothing  else.  Her  father  thinks 


184  Good  Old  Anna 

she's  fretting  because  we  would  not  allow — or  perhaps 
I  ought  to  say  we  discouraged  the  idea  of — a  hasty 
marriage.  I  feel  sure  it  would  do  Edith  good  to  see 
some  one,  especially  a  dear  little  friend  like  Rose,  who 
has  no  connection  with  the  Army,  and  who  can  look 
at  things  in  a  sensible,  normal  manner." 

And  so  mother  and  daughter,  for  an  hour,  went  their 
different  ways,  and  Mrs.  Otway,  as  she  walked  home 
alone,  told  herself  that  anxiety  became  Mrs.  Haworth, 
that  it  rendered  the  Dean's  wife  less  brusque,  and  made 
her  pleasanter  and  kindlier  in  manner.  Poor  Edith 
was  her  ewe  lamb,  the  prettiest  of  the  daughters  whom 
she  had  started  so  successfully  out  into  the  world,  and 
the  one  who  was  going  to  make,  from  a  worldly  point 
of  view,  the  best  marriage.  Yes,  it  would  indeed  be  a 
dreadful  thing  if  anything  happened  to  Sir  Hugh 
Severn. 

Casualties  ?  What  an  odd,  sinister  word !  One  with 
which  it  was  difficult  to  become  familiar.  But  it  was 
evidently  the  official  word.  Not  for  the  first  time  she 
reminded  herself  of  the  exact  words  the  Prime  Min- 
ister in  the  House  of  Commons  had  used.  They  had 
been  "Our  casualties  are  very  heavy,  though  the  exact 
numbers  are  not  yet  known."  Mrs.  Otway  wondered 
uneasily  when  they  would  become  known — how  soon, 
that  is,  a  mother,  a  sister,  a  lover,  and  yes,  a  friend, 
would  learn  that  the  man  who  was  beloved,  cherished, 
or  close  and  dear  as  a  friend  may  be,  had  become — 
what  was  the  horrible  word  ? — a  casualty. 

She  walked  through  into  her  peaceful,  pretty  house. 
Unless  the  household  were  all  out,  the  front  door  was 
never  locked,  for  there  was  nothing  to  steal,  and  no 


Good  Old  Anna  185 

secrets  to  pry  out,  in  the  Trellis  House.  And  then,  on 
the  hall  table,  she  saw  the  belated  evening  paper  which 
she  had  missed  this  morning,  and  two  or  three  letters. 
Taking  up  the  paper  and  the  letters,  she  went  straight 
through  into  the  garden.  It  would  be  pleasanter  to 
read  out  there  than  indoors. 

With  a  restful  feeling  that  no  one  was  likely  to  come 
in  and  disturb  her  yet  awhile,  she  sat  down  in  the  bas- 
ket-chair which  had  already  been  put  out  by  her 
thoughtful  old  Anna.  And  then,  quite  suddenly,  she 
caught  sight  of  the  middle  letter  of  the  three  she  had 
gathered  up  in  such  careless  haste.  It  was  an  odd- 
looking  envelope,  of  thin,  common  paper  covered  with 
pale  blue  lines ;  but  it  bore  her  address  written  in  Ma- 
jor Guthrie's  clear,  small,  familiar  handwriting,  and  on 
the  right-hand  corner  was  the  usual  familiar  penny 
stamp.  That  stamp  was,  of  course,  a  positive  proof 
that  he  was  home  again. 

For  quite  a  minute  she  simply  held  the  envelope  in 
her  hand.  She  felt  so  relieved,  and  yes,  so  ridiculously 
happy,  that  after  the  first  moment  of  heartfelt  joy 
there  came  a  pang  of  compunction.  It  was  wrong,  it 
was  unnatural,  that  the  safety  of  one  human  being 
should  so  affect  her.  She  was  glad  that  this  curious 
revulsion  of  feeling,  this  passing  from  gloom  and 
despondency  to  unreasoning  peace  and  joy,  should  have 
taken  place  when  she  was  by  herself.  She  would  have 
been  ashamed  that  Rose  should  have  witnessed  it. 

And  then,  with  a  certain  deliberation,  she  opened 
the  envelope,  and  drew  out  the  oddly-shaped  piece  of 
paper  it  contained. 

This  is  what  she  read : 


1 86  Good  Old  Anna 

"FRANCE, 
"Wednesday  morning. 

"Every  letter  sent  by  the  usual  channel  is  read  and, 
very  properly,  censored;  I  do  not  choose  that  this 
letter  should  be  seen  by  any  eyes  but  mine  and  yours. 
I  have  therefore  asked,  and  received,  permission  to 
send  this  by  an  old  friend  who  is  leaving  for  England 
with  despatches. 

"The  work  has  been  rather  heavy.  I  have  had  very 
little  sleep  since  Sunday,  so  you  must  forgive  any  con- 
fusion of  thought  or  unsuitable  expressions  used  by 
me  to  you.  Unfortunately  I  have  lost  my  kit,  but  the 
old  woman  in  whose  cottage  I  am  resting  for  an  hour 
has  good-naturedly  provided  me  with  paper  and  en- 
velopes. Luckily  I  managed  to  keep  my  fountain-pen. 

"I  wish  to  tell  you  now  what  I  have  long  desired  to 
tell  you — that  I  love  you — that  it  has  long  been  my 
greatest,  nay,  my  only  wish,  that  you  should  become 
my  wife.  Sometimes,  lately,  I  have  thought  that  I 
might  persuade  you  to  let  me  love  you. 

"In  so  thinking  I  may  have  been  a  presumptuous 
fool.  Be  that  as  it  may,  I  want  to  tell  you  that  our 
friendship  has  meant  a  very  great  deal  to  me;  that 
without  it  I  should  have  been,  during  the  last  four 
years,  a  most  unhappy  man. 

"And  now  I  must  close  this  hurriedly  written  and 
poorly  expressed  letter.  It  does  not  say  a  tenth — nay, 
it  does  not  say  a  thousandth  part  of  what  I  would  fain 
say.  But  let  me,  for  the  first,  and  perhaps  for  the  last 
time,  call  you  my  dearest." 

Then  followed  his  initials  "A.  G.,"  and  a  postscript : 
"As  to  what  has  been  happening  here,  I  will  only 


Good  Old  Anna  187 

quote  to  you  Napier's  grand  words:  'Then  was  seen 
with  what  majesty  the  British  soldier  fights.' ' 

Mrs.  Otway  read  the  letter  right  through  twice. 
Then,  slowly,  deliberately,  she  folded  it  up  and  put  it 
back  in  its  envelope.  Uncertainly  she  looked  at  her 
little  silk  handbag.  No,  she  could  not  put  it  there, 
where  she  kept  her  purse,  her  engagement  book,  her 
handkerchief.  For  the  moment,  at  any  rate,  it  would 
be  safest  elsewhere.  With  a  quick  furtive  movement 
she  thrust  it  into  her  bodice,  close  to  her  beating  heart. 

Mrs.  Otway  looked  up  to  a  sudden  sight  of  Rose — 
of  Rose  unusually  agitated. 

"Oh,  mother,"  she  cried,  "such  a  strange,  dreadful, 
extraordinary  thing  has  happened !  Old  Mrs.  Guthrie 
is  dead.  The  butler  telephoned  to  the  Deanery,  and 
he  seems  in  a  dreadful  state  of  mind.  Mrs.  Haworth 
says  she  can't  possibly  go  out  there  this  morning,  and 
they  were  wondering  whether  you  would  mind  going. 
The  Dean  says  he  was  out  there  only  yesterday,  and 
that  Mrs.  Guthrie  spoke  as  if  you  were  one  of  her 
dearest  friends.  Wasn't  that  strange?" 

Rose  looked  very  much  shocked  and  distressed — 
curiously  so,  considering  how  little  she  had  known 
Mrs.  Guthrie.  But  there  is  something  awe-inspiring 
to  a  young  girl  in  the  sudden  death  of  even  an  old  per- 
son. Only  three  days  ago  Mrs.  Guthrie  had  enter- 
tained Rose  with  an  amusing  account  of  her  first  ball — 
a  ball  given  at  the  Irish  Viceregal  Court  in  the  days 
when,  as  the  speaker  had  significantly  put  it,  it  really 
was  a  Court  in  Dublin.  And  when  Rose  and  her 
mother  had  said  good-bye,  she  had  pressed  them  to 
come  again  soon ;  while  to  the  girl :  "I  don't  often  see 


1 88  Good  Old  Anna 

anything  so  fresh  and  pretty  as  you  are,  my  dear!"  she 
had  exclaimed. 

Mrs.  Otway  heard  Rose's  news  with  no  sense  of 
surprise.  She  felt  as  if  she  were  living  in  a  dream — a 
dream  which  was  at  once  poignantly  sad  and  yet  ex- 
quisitely, unbelievably  happy.  "I  have  been  there 
several  times  lately,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice,  "and  I 
had  grown  quite  fond  of  her.  Of  course  I'll  go.  Will 
you  telephone  for  a  fly  ?  I'd  rather  be  alone  there,  my 
dear." 

Rose  lingered  on  in  the  garden  for  a  moment.  Then 
she  said  slowly,  reluctantly:  "And  mother?  I'm 
afraid  there's  rather  bad  news  of  Major  Guthrie.  It 
came  last  night,  before  Mrs.  Guthrie  went  to  bed.  The 
butler  says  she  took  it  very  bravely  and  quietly,  but  I 
suppose  it  was  that  which — which  brought  about  her 
death." 

" What  is  the  news?" 

Mrs.  Otway's  dream-impression  vanished.  She  got 
up  from  the  basket-chair  in  which  she  had  been  sitting, 
and  her  voice  to  herself  sounded  strangely  loud  and 
unregulated. 

"What  is  it,  Rose?  Why  don't  you  tell  me?  Has 
he  been  killed?" 

"Oh,  no— it's  not  as  bad  as  that !  Oh !  mother,  don't 
look  so  unhappy — it's  only  that  he's  'wounded  and 
missing.' ' 


CHAPTER   XVIII 

NO,  ma'am,  there  was  nothing,  ma'am,  to  act,  so 
to  speak,  in  the  nature  of  a  warning.  Mrs. 
Guthrie  had  much  enjoyed  your  visit,  and,  if  I  may 
say  so,  ma'am,  the  visit  of  your  young  lady,  last 
Thursday.  Yesterday  she  was  more  cheerf ul-like  than 
usual,  talking  a  good  bit  about  the  Russians.  She  said 
that  their  coming  to  our  help  just  now  in  the  way  they 
had  done  had  quite  reconciled  her  to  them." 

Howse,  Major  Guthrie's  butler,  his  one-time  soldier- 
servant,  was  speaking.  By  his  side  was  Mrs.  Guth- 
rie's elderly  maid,  Ponting.  Mrs.  Otway  was  standing 
opposite  to  them,  and  they  were  all  three  in  the  middle 
of  the  pretty,  cheerful  morning-room,  where  it  seemed 
but  a  few  hours  ago  since  she  and  her  daughter  had 
sat  with  the  old  lady. 

With  the  mingled  pomp,  enjoyment,  and  grief  which 
the  presence  of  death  creates  in  a  certain  type  of  mind, 
Howse  went  on  speaking:  "She  made  quite  a  hearty 
tea  for  her — two  bits  of  bread  and  butter,  and  a  little 
piece  of  tea-cake.  And  then  for  her  supper  she  had  a 
sweetbread — a  sweetbread  and  bacon.  It's  a  comfort 
to  Cook  now,  ma'am,  to  remember  as  how  Mrs.  Guth- 
rie sent  her  a  message,  saying  how  nicely  she  thought 
the  bacon  had  been  done.  Mrs.  Guthrie  always  liked 
the  bacon  to  be  very  dry  and  curly,  ma'am." 

He  stopped  for  a  moment,  and  Mrs.  Otway's  eyes 
filled  with  tears  for  the  first  time. 

On  entering  the  house,  she  had  at  once  been  shown 
189 


190  Good  Old  Anna 

the  War  Office  telegram  stating  that  Major  Guthrie 
was  wounded  and  missing,  and  she  had  glanced  over 
it  with  shuddering  distress  and  pain,  while  her  brain 
kept  repeating  "wounded  and  missing — wounded  and 
missing."  What  exactly  did  those  sinister  words  sig- 
nify? How,  if  he  was  missing,  could  they  know  he 
was  wounded?  How,  if  he  had  been  wounded,  could 
he  be  missing? 

But  soon  she  had  been  forced  to  command  her 
thoughts,  and  to  listen,  with  an  outward  air  of  calm- 
ness and  interest,  to  this  detailed  account  of  the  poor 
old  lady's  last  hours. 

With  unconscious  gusto,  Howse  again  took  up  the 
sad  tale,  while  the  maid  stood  by,  with  reddened  eye- 
lids, ready  to  echo  and  to  supplement  his  narrative. 

"Perhaps  Mrs.  Guthrie  was  not  quite  as  well  as  she 
seemed  to  be,  ma'am,  for  she  wouldn't  take  any  des- 
sert, and  after  she  had  finished  her  dinner  she  didn't 
seem  to  want  to  sit  up  for  a  while,  as  she  sometimes 
did.  When  she  became  so  infirm,  a  matter  of  two 
years  ago,  the  Major  arranged  that  his  study  should 
be  turned  into  a  bedroom  for  her,  ma'am,  so  we 
wheeled  her  in  there  after  dinner." 

After  a  pause,  he  went  on  with  an  added  touch  of 
gloom:  "She  gazed  her  last  upon  the  dining-room, 
and  on  this  'ere  little  room,  which  was,  so  to  speak, 
ma'am,  her  favourite  sitting-room.  Isn't  that  so,  Pon- 
ting?"  The  maid  nodded,  and  Howse  said  sadly: 
"Ponting  will  now  tell  you  what  happened  after  that, 
ma'am." 

Ponting  waited  a  moment,  and  then  began :  "My 
mistress  didn't  seem  inclined  to  go  to  bed  at  once,  so  I 
settled  her  down  nicely  and  comfortably  with  her 


Good  Old  Anna  191 

reading-lamp  and  a  copy  of  The  World  newspaper. 
She  found  the  papers  very  dull  lately,  poor  old  lady, 
for  you  see,  ma'am,  there  was  nothing  in  them  but 
things  about  the  war,  and  she  didn't  much  care  for  that. 
But  she  can't  have  been  reading  more  than  five  min- 
utes when  there  came  the  telegram." 

Howse  held  up  his  hand,  for  it  was  here  that  he 
again  came  on  the  scene. 

"The  minute  the  messenger  boy  handed  me  the  en- 
velope," he  exclaimed,  "I  says  to  myself,  That's  bad 
news — bad  news  of  the  Major !'  I  sorely  felt  tempted 
to  open  it.  But  there!  I  knew  if  I  did  so  it  would 
anger  Mrs.  Guthrie.  She  was  a  lady,  ma'am,  who 
always  knew  her  own  mind.  It  wasn't  even  addressed 
'Guthrie,'  you  see,  but  'Mrs.  Guthrie,'  as  plain  as  plain 
could  be.  The  boy  'ad  brought  it  to  the  front  door, 
and  as  we  was  having  our  supper  I  didn't  want  to  dis- 
turb Ponting.  So  I  just  walked  along  to  Mrs.  Guth- 
rie's  bedroom,  and  knocked.  She  calls  out,  'Come  in !' 
And  I  answers,  'There's  a  telegram  for  you,  ma'am. 
Would  you  like  me  to  send  Ponting  in  with  it?'  And 
she  calls  out,  'No,  Howse.  Bring  it  in  yourself.' 

"I  shall  never  forget  seeing  her  open  it,  poor  old 
lady.  She  did  it  quite  deliberate-like;  then,  after  just 
reading  it  over,  she  looked  up  straight  at  me.  'I  know 
you'll  be  sorry  to  hear,  Howse,  as  how  Major  Guthrie 
is  wounded  and  missing/  she  said,  and  then,  'I  need 
not  tell  you,  who  are  an  old  soldier,  Howse,  that  such 
are  the  fortunes  of  war.'  Those,  ma'am,  were  her  ex- 
act words.  Of  course  I  explained  how  sorry  I  was, 
and  I  did  my  very  best  to  hide  from  her  how  bad  I 
took  the  news  to  be.  'I  think  I  would  like  to  be  alone 
now,  Howse,'  she  says,  'just  for  a  little  while.'  And 


192  Good  Old  Anna 

then,  'We  must  hope  for  better  news  in  the  morning.' 
I  asked  her,  'Would  you  like  me  to  send  Ponting  up  to 
you,  ma'am  ?'  But  she  shook  her  head :  'No,  Howse, 
I  would  rather  be  by  myself.  I  will  ring  when  I  re- 
quire Ponting.  I  do  not  feel  as  if  I  should  care  to  go 
to  bed  just  yet,'  she  says  quite  firmly. 

"Well,  ma'am,  we  had  of  course  to  obey  her  orders, 
but  we  all  felt  very  uncomfortable.  And  as  a  matter 
of  fact  in  about  half  an  hour  Ponting  did  make  an 
excuse  to  go  into  the  room" — he  looked  at  the  woman 
by  his  side.  "You  just  tell  Mrs.  Otway  what  hap- 
pened," he  said,  in  a  tone  of  command. 

Ponting  meekly  obeyed. 

"I  just  opened  the  door  very  quietly,  and  Mrs. 
Guthrie  did  not  turn  round.  Without  being  at  all  deaf, 
my  mistress  had  got  a  little  hard  of  hearing,  lately.  I 
went  a  step  forward,  and  then  I  saw  that  she  was  read- 
ing the  Bible.  I  was  very  much  surprised,  madam,  for 
it  was  the  first  time  I  had  ever  seen  her  do  such  a 
thing — though  of  course  there  was  always  a  Bible  and 
a  Prayer  Book  close  to  her  hand.  She  was  wheeled 
into  church  each  Sunday — when  it  was  fine,  that  is. 
The  Major  saw  to  that.  ...  I  couldn't  help  feeling 
sorry  she  hadn't  rung  and  asked  me  to  move  the  Book 
for  her,  for  it  is  a  big  Bible,  with  very  clear  print. 
She  was  following  the  words  with  her  finger,  and  that 
was  a  thing  I  had  never  seen  her  do  before  with  any 
book.  As  she  did  not  turn  round,  I  said  to  myself  that 
it  was  better  not  to  disturb  her.  So  I  just  backed  very 
quietly  out  of  the  door  again.  I  shall  always  be  glad," 
she  said,  in  a  lower  tone,  "that  I  saw  her  like  that." 

"And  then,"  interposed  Howse,  "quite  a  long  time 
went  on,  ma'am,  and  we  all  got  to  feel  very  uneasy. 


Good  Old  Anna  193 

We  none  of  us  liked  to  go  up — not  one  of  us.  But  at 
last  three  of  us  went  up  together — Cook,  me,  and 
Ponting — and  listened  at  the  door.  But  try  our  hard- 
est, as  we  did,  we  could  hear  nothing.  It  was  the  still- 
ness of  death!" 

"Yes,"  said  Ponting,  her  voice  sinking  to  a  whisper, 
"that's  what  it  was.  For  when  at  last  I  opened  the 
door,  there  lay  my  poor  mistress  all  huddled  up  in  the 
chair,  just  as  she  had  fallen  back.  We  sent  for  the 
doctor  at  once,  but  he  said  there  was  nothing  to  be 
done — that  her  heart  had  just  stopped.  He  said  it 
might  have  happened  any  time  in  the  last  two  years, 
or  she  might  have  lived  on  for  quite  a  long  time,  if  all 
had  gone  on  quiet  and  serene." 

"We've  left  the  Bible  just  as  it  was,"  said  Howse 
slowly.  "It's  just  covered  over,  so  that  the  Major,  if 
ever  he  should  come  home  again,  though  I  fear  that's 
very  unlikely" — he  dolefully  shook  his  head — "may 
see  what  it  was  her  eyes  last  rested  on.  Major  Guth- 
rie,  if  you  would  excuse  me  for  saying  so,  ma'am,  has 
always  been  a  far  more  religious  gentleman  than  his 
mother  was  a  religious  lady.  I  feel  sure  it  would  com- 
fort him  to  know  that  just  before  her  end  she  was 
reading  the  Book." 

"It  was  open  at  the  twenty-second  Psalm,"  added 
Ponting,  "and  when  I  came  in  that  time  and  saw  her 
without  her  seeing  me,  she  must  have  been  just  reading 
the  verse  about  the  dog." 

"The  dog?"  said  Mrs.  Otway,  surprised. 

"Yes,  madam.  'Deliver  my  soul  from  the  sword: 
my  darling  from  the  power  of  the  dog.' ' 

Howse  here  chimed  in,  "Her  darling,  that's  the 
Major,  and  the  dog  is  the  enemy,  ma'am." 


194  Good  Old  Anna 

He  paused,  and  then  went  on,  in  a  brisker,  more 
cheerful  tone : 

"I  telegraphed  the  very  first  thing  to  Mr.  Allen — 
that's  Major  Guthrie's  lawyer,  ma'am.  The  Major 
told  me  I  was  to  do  that,  if  anything  awkward  hap- 
pened. Then  it  just  occurred  to  me  that  I  would  tele- 
phone to  the  Deanery.  The  Dean  was  out  here  yes- 
terday afternoon,  ma'am,  and  Mrs.  Guthrie  liked  him 
very  much.  Long  ago,  when  she  lived  in  London,  she 
used  to  know  the  parents  of  the  young  gentleman  to 
whom  Miss  Haworth  is  engaged  to  be  married.  They 
had  quite  a  long  pleasant  talk  about  it  all.  I  had 
meant,  ma'am,  if  you'll  excuse  my  telling  you,  to  tele- 
phone to  you  next,  and  then  I  heard  as  how  you  were 
coming  here.  The  Major  did  tell  me  the  morning  he 
went  away  that  if  Mrs.  Guthrie  seemed  really  ailing,  I 
was  to  ask  you  to  be  kind  enough  to  come  and  see  her. 
Of  course  I  knew  where  he  was  going,  and  that  he'd 
be  away  for  a  long  time,  though  he  didn't  say  any- 
thing to  me  about  it.  But  he  knew  that  I  knew,  right 
enough !" 

"Had  Mrs.  Guthrie  no  near  relation  at  all — no  sis- 
ter, no  nieces?"  asked  Mrs.  Otway,  in  a  low  voice. 
Again  she  felt  she  was  living  in  a  dreamland  of  secret, 
poignant  emotions  shadowed  by  a  great  suspense  and 
fear. 

"No.  Nothing  of  the  kind,"  said  Howse  confi- 
dently. "And  on  Major  Guthrie's  side  there  was  only 
distant  cousins.  It's  a  peculiar  kind  of  situation  alto- 
gether, ma'am,  if  I  may  say  so.  Quite  a  long  time 
may  pass  before  we  know  whether  the  Major  is  alive 
or  dead.  'Wounded  and  missing'?  We  all  knows  as 


Good  Old  Anna  195 

how  there  is  only  one  thing  worse  that  could  be  than 

that — don't  we,  ma'am?" 

"I  don't  quite  know  what  you  mean,  Howse." 
"Why,  the  finding  and  identifying  of  the  Major's 

body,  ma'am." 

Through  the  still,  silent  house  there  came  a  loud, 
long,  insistent  ringing — that  produced  by  an  old-fash- 
ioned front  door  bell. 

"I  expect  it's  Mr.  Allen,"  exclaimed  Howse.  "He 
wired  as  how  he'd  be  down  by  two  o'clock."  And  a 
few  moments  later  a  tall,  dark,  clean-shaven  man  was 
shaking  hands,  with  the  words,  "I  think  you  must  be 
Mrs.  Otway?" 

There  was  little  business  doing  just  then  among  Lon- 
don solicitors,  and  so  Mr.  Allen  had  come  down  him- 
self. He  had  a  very  friendly  regard  for  his  wounded 
and  missing  client,  and  his  recollection  of  the  interview 
which  had  taken  place  on  the  day  before  Major  Guthrie 
had  sailed  with  the  First  Division  of  the  Expedition- 
ary Force  was  still  very  vivid  in  his  mind. 

His  client  had  surprised  him  very  much.  He  had 
thought  he  knew  everything  about  Major  Guthrie  and 
Major  Guthrie's  business,  but  before  receiving  the  lat- 
ter's  instructions  about  his  new  will  he  had  never 
heard  of  Mrs.  Otway  and  her  daughter.  Yet,  if  Major 
Guthrie  outlived  his  mother,  as  it  was  of  course  reason- 
able, even  under  the  circumstances,  to  suppose  that  he 
would  do,  a  considerable  sum  of  money  was  to  pass 
under  his  will  to  Mrs.  Otway,  and,  failing  her,  to  her 
only  child,  Rose  Otway. 

Strange  confidences  are  very  often  made  to  lawyers, 
quite  as  often  as  to  doctors.  But  Major  Guthrie,  when 


196  Good  Old  Anna 

he  came  to  sign  his  will,  the  will  for  which  he  had  sent 
such  precise  and  detailed  instructions  a  few  days  be- 
fore, made  no  confidences  at  all. 

Even  so,  the  solicitor,  putting  two  and  two  together, 
had  very  little  doubt  as  to  the  relations  of  his  client 
and  of  the  lady  whom  he  had  made  his  residuary  leg- 
atee. He  felt  sure  that  there  was  an  understanding 
between  them  that  either  after  the  war,  or  after  Mrs. 
Guthrie's  death — he  could  not  of  course  tell  which — 
they  intended  to  make  one  of  those  middle-aged  mar- 
riages which  often,  strange  to  say,  turn  out  more  hap- 
pily than  earlier  marriages  are  sometimes  apt  to  do. 

The  lawyer  naturally  kept  his  views  to  himself  dur- 
ing the  afternoon  he  spent  at  Dorycote  House,  and  he 
simply  treated  Mrs.  Otway  as  though  she  had  been  a 
near  relation  of  the  deceased  lady.  What,  however, 
increased  his  belief  that  his  original  theory  was  cor- 
rect, was  the  fact  that  there  was  no  mention  of  Mrs. 
Otway's  name  in  Mrs.  Guthrie's  will.  The  old  lady, 
like  so  many  women,  had  preferred  to  keep  her  will 
in  her  own  possession.  It  had  been  made  many  years 
before,  and  in  it  she  had  left  everything  to  her  son, 
with  the  exception  of  a  few  trinkets  which  were  to  be 
distributed  among  certain  old  friends  and  acquaint- 
ances, fully  half  of  whom,  it  was  found  on  reference 
to  Ponting,  had  predeceased  the  testator. 

As  the  hours  went  on,  Mr.  Allen  could  not  help  won- 
dering if  Mrs.  Otway  was  aware  of  the  contents  of 
Major  Guthrie's  will.  He  watched  her  with  consider- 
able curiosity.  She  was  certainly  attractive,  and  yes, 
quite  intelligent ;  but  she  hardly  spoke  at  all,  and  there 
was  a  kind  of  numbness  in  her  manner  which  he  found 
rather  trying.  She  did  not  once  mention  Major  Guth- 


Good  Old  Anna  197 

rie  of  her  own  accord.  She  always  left  such  mention 
to  him.  He  told  himself  that  doubtless  it  was  this 
quietude  of  manner  which  had  attracted  his  reserved 
client. 

"I  suppose,"  he  said  at  last,  "that  we  must  presume 
that  Major  Guthrie  is  alive  till  we  have  an  official  state- 
ment to  the  contrary?"  And  then  he  was  startled  to 
see  the  vivid  expression  of  pain,  almost  of  anguish, 
which  quivered  over  her  eyes  and  mouth.  Then  she 
did  care,  after  all. 

"Howse  tells  me,"  she  said  slowly,  "that  Major 

Guthrie  is  probably  a  prisoner.  He  says,  he  says " 

and  then  she  stopped  abruptly — it  was  as  if  she  could 
not  go  on  with  her  sentence,  and  Mr.  Allen  exclaimed, 
"I  heard  what  he  said,  Mrs.  Otway.  Of  course  he  is 
right  in  stating  that  an  effort  is  always  made  to  find 
and  bring  in  the  bodies  of  dead  officers.  But  I  fear 
that  this  war  is  not  at  all  like  the  only  war  of  which 
Howse  has  had  any  first-hand  knowledge.  This  last 
week  has  been  a  very  bad  business.  Still,  I  quite  agree 
that  we  must  not  give  up  hope.  I  have  been  wondering 
whether  you  would  like  me  to  make  inquiries  at  the 
War  Office,  or  whether  you  have  any  better  and  quicker 
• — I  mean  of  course  by  that  any  private — means  of 
procuring  information?" 

"No,"  she  said  hopelessly ;  "I  have  no  way  of  find- 
ing out  anything.  And  I  should  be  very  grateful  in- 
deed, Mr.  Allen,  if  you  would  do  what  you  can."  For 
the  first  time  she  spoke  as  if  she  had  a  direct  interest 
in  Major  Guthrie's  fate.  "Perhaps" — she  fixed  her 
eyes  on  him  appealingly,  and  he  saw  them  slowly  fill 
up  and  brim  over  with  tears — "Perhaps  if  you  should 


198  Good  Old  Anna 

hear  anything,  you  would  not  mind  telegraphing  to  me 
direct?  I  think  you  have  my  address." 

And  then,  bursting  into  bitter  sobs,  she  suddenly 
got  up  and  ran  out  of  the  room. 

So  she  did  know  about  Major  Guthrie's  will.  In 
what  other  way  could  he,  the  man  to  whom  she  was 
speaking,  know  her  address  ?  Mr.  Allen  also  told  him- 
self, with  some  surprise,  that  he  had  been  mistaken — 
that  Mrs.  Otway,  after  all,  was  not  the  quiet,  passion- 
less woman  he  had  supposed  her  to  be. 

When  she  reached  the  Trellis  House  late  that  Sun- 
day afternoon,  Mrs.  Otway  was  met  at  the  door  by 
Rose,  and  the  girl,  with  face  full  of  mingled  awe  and 
pain,  told  her  that  the  blow  on  the  Deanery  had  fallen. 
Edith  Haworth  had  received  the  news  that  Sir  Hugh 
Severn  was  dead — killed  at  the  head  of  his  men  in  a 
great  cavalry  charge. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

AT^HERE  are  times  in  life  when  everything  is  out 
A  of  focus,  when  events  take  on  the  measure,  not 
of  what  they  really  are,  but  of  the  mental  state  of  the 
people  affected  by  them.  Such  a  time  had  now  come 
to  the  mistress  of  the  Trellis  House.  For  a  while 
Mrs.  Otway  saw  everything,  heard  everything,  read 
everything,  through  a  mist  of  aching  pain  and  of  that 
worst  misery  of  all — the  misery  of  suspense. 

The  passion  of  love,  so  hedged  about  with  curious 
and  unreal  conventions,  is  a  strangely  protean  thing. 
The  dear  old  proverb,  "Absence  makes  the  heart  grow 
fonder,"  is  far  truer  than  those  who  believe  its  many 
cynical  counterparts  would  have  us  think,  and  espe- 
cially is  this  true  of  an  impulsive  and  imaginative 
nature. 

It  was  the  sudden,  dramatic  withdrawal  of  Major 
Guthrie  from  her  life  which  first  made  the  woman 
he  had  dumbly  loved  realise  all  that  his  constant,  help- 
ful presence  had  meant  to  her.  And  then  his  worldly 
old  mother's  confidences  had  added  just  that  touch  of 
jealousy  which  often  sharpens  love.  Lastly,  his  letter, 
so  simple,  so  direct,  and  yet,  to  one  who  knew  his 
quiet,  reserved  nature,  so  deeply  charged  with  feeling, 
had  brought  the  first  small  seed  to  a  blossoming  which 
quickened  every  pulse  of  her  nature  into  ardent,  sen- 
tient life.  This  woman,  who  had  always  been  singu- 
larly selfless,  far  more  interested  in  the  lives  of  those 
about  her  than  in  her  own,  suddenly  became  self- 
absorbed. 

199 


2oo  Good  Old  Anna 

She  looked  back  with  a  kind  of  wonder  to  her  old 
happy,  satisfied,  and  yes,  unawakened  life.  She  had 
believed  herself  to  be  a  woman  of  many  friends,  and 
yet  there  was  now  not  one  human  being  to  whom  she 
felt  even  tempted  to  tell  her  wonderful  secret. 

Busily  occupied  with  the  hundred  and  one  trifles, 
and  the  eager,  generally  successful  little  excursions 
into  philanthropy — for  she  was  an  exceptionally  kind, 
warm-hearted  woman — which  had  filled  her  placid 
widowhood,  she  had  yet  never  made  any  real  intimate. 
The  only  exception  had  been  Major  Guthrie;  it  was 
he  who  had  drawn  her  into  what  had  seemed  for  so 
long  their  pleasant,  quiet  garden  of  friendship. 

And  now  she  realised  that  were  she  to  tell  any  of 
the  people  about  her  of  the  marvellous  change  which 
had  taken  place  in  her  heart,  they  would  regard  her 
with  great  surprise,  and  yes,  even  with  amusement. 
All  the  world  loves  a  young  lover,  but  there  is  not 
much  sympathy  to  spare  in  the  kind  of  world  to  which 
Mary  Otway  belonged  by  birth,  position,  and  long 
association,  for  the  love  which  appears,  and  sometimes 
only  attains  full  fruition,  later  in  life. 

As  the  days  went  on,  each  bringing  its  tale  of  excit- 
ing and  momentous  events,  there  came  over  Mrs.  Ot- 
way a  curious  apathy  with  regard  to  the  war,  for  to 
her  the  one  figure  which  had  counted  in  the  awful 
drama  now  being  enacted  in  France  and  Flanders  had 
disappeared  from  the  vast  stage  where,  as  she  now 
recognised,  she  had  seen  only  him.  True,  she  glanced 
over  a  paper  each  day,  but  she  only  sufficiently  mas- 
tered its  contents  to  be  able  to  reply  intelligently  to 
those  with  whom  her  daily  round  brought  her  in 
contact. 


Good  Old  Anna  201 

And  soon,  to  her  surprise,  and  ever-growing  dis- 
comfort, Anna  Bauer — her  good,  faithful  old  Anna, 
for  whom  she  had  always  had  such  feelings  of  affec- 
tion, and  yes,  of  gratitude — began  to  get  on  her  nerves. 
It  was  not  that  she  associated  Anna  with  the  War, 
and  with  all  that  the  War  had  brought  to  her  person- 
ally of  joy  and  of  grief.  Rather  was  it  the  sudden 
perception  that  her  own  secret  ideals  of  life  and  those 
of  the  woman  near  whom  she  had  lived  for  close  on 
eighteen  years,  were  utterly  different,  and,  in  a  deep 
sense,  irreconcilable. 

Mrs.  Otway  grew  to  dislike,  with  a  nervous,  sharp 
distaste,  the  very  sight  of  Anna's  favourite  motto, 
"Arbeit  macht  das  Leben  suss,  und  die  Welt  zum 
Paradies"  ("Work  makes  life  sweet  and  the  world  a 
paradise").  Was  it  possible  that  in  the  old  days  she 
had  admired  that  lying  sentiment?  Lying?  Yes,  in- 
deed! Work  did  not  make  life  sweet,  or  she,  Mary 
Otway,  would  now  be  happier  than  ever,  for  she  had 
never  worked  as  hard  as  she  was  now  working — 
working  to  destroy  thought — working  to  dull  the 
dreadful  aching  at  her  heart,  throwing  herself,  with  a 
feverish  eagerness  which  surprised  those  about  her, 
into  the  various  war  activities  which  were  now,  largely 
owing  to  the  intelligence  and  thoroughness  of  Miss 
Forsyth,  being  organised  in  W7itanbury. 

Mrs.  Otway  also  began  to  hate  the  other  German 
mottoes  which  Anna  had  put  all  about  the  Trellis 
House,  especially  in  those  rooms  which  might  be  re- 
garded as  her  own  domain — the  kitchen,  the  old  nurs- 
ery, and  Rose's  bedroom.  There  was  something  of 
the  kind  embroidered  on  every  single  article  which 
would  take  a  heruch,  and  Anna's  mistress  sometimes 


202  Good  Old  Anna 

felt  as  if  she  would  like  to  make  a  bonfire  of  them  all ! 

Every  time  she  went  into  her  kitchen  she  also 
longed  to  tear  down,  with  violent  hands,  the  borders 
of  fine  crochet  work,  the  Kante,  with  which  each 
wooden  shelf  was  edged,  and  of  which  she  had  been 
almost  as  proud  as  had  been  Anna.  This  crochet 
work  seemed  to  haunt  her,  for  wherever  it  could  be 
utilised,  Anna,  during  those  long  years  of  willing  serv- 
ice, had  sewn  it  proudly  on,  in  narrow  edgings  and 
in  broad  bands. 

'  Not  only  were  all  Mrs.  Otway's  and  Rose's  under- 
clothing trimmed  with  it,  but  it  served  as  insertion 
for  curtains,  ran  along  the  valance  of  each  bed,  and 
edged  each  pillow  and  cushion.  Anna  had  worked 
miles  of  it  since  she  first  came  to  the  Trellis  House, 
for  there  were  balls  of  crochet  work  rolled  up  in  all 
her  drawers,  and  when  she  was  not  occupied  in  doing 
some  form  of  housework  she  was  either  knitting  or 
crocheting.  The  old  German  woman  never  stirred 
without  her  little  bag,  itself  gaily  embroidered,  to 
hold  her  Hand  Arbeit;  and  very  heartily,  as  Mrs. 
Otway  knew  well,  did  she  despise  the  average  English- 
woman for  being  able  to  talk  without  a  crochet-hook 
or  a  pair  of  knitting-needles  in  her  hands. 

Something — not  much,  but  just  a  little — of  what 
her  mistress  was  feeling  with  regard  to  Major  Guthrie 
gradually  reached  Anna's  perceptions,  and  made  her 
feel  at  once  uncomfortable,  scornful,  and  angry. 

Anna  felt  the  deepest  sympathy  for  her  darling 
nursling,  Miss  Rose;  for  it  was  natural,  warming-to- 
the-heart,  that  a  young  girl  should  feel  miserable  about 
a  young  man.  In  fact,  Rose's  lack  of  interest  in  mar- 
riage and  in  the  domesticities  had  disturbed  and  puz- 


Good  Old  Anna  203 

zled  good  old  Anna,  and  to  her  mind  had  been  a  woeful 
lack  in  the  girl. 

So  she  had  welcomed,  with  great  sympathy,  the 
sudden  and  surprising  change.  Anna  shrewdly  sus- 
pected the  truth,  namely,  that  Rose  was  Jervis  Blake's 
secret  betrothed.  She  felt  sure  that  something  had 
happened  on  the  morning  young  Mr.  Blake  had  gone 
away,  during  the  long  half-hour  the  two  young  people 
had  spent  together.  On  that  morning,  immediately 
after  her  return  home,  Rose  had  gone  up  to  her  room, 
declaring  that  she  had  had  breakfast — though  she, 
Anna,  knew  well  that  the  child  had  only  had  an  early 
cup  of  tea.  .  .  . 

But  if  Anna  sympathised  with  and  understood  the 
feelings  of  the  younger  of  her  two  ladies,  she  had 
but  scant  toleration  for  Mrs.  Otway's  restless,  ill-con- 
cealed unhappiness.  Even  in  the  old  days  Anna  had 
disapproved  of  Major  Guthrie,  and  she  had  thought 
it  very  strange  indeed  that  he  came  so  often  to  the 
Trellis  House.  To  her  mind  such  conduct  was  unfit- 
ting. What  on  earth  could  a  middle-aged  man  have 
to  say  to  the  mother  of  a  grown-up  daughter  ? 

Of  course  Anna  knew  that  marriages  between  such 
people  are  sometimes  arranged;  but  to  her  mind  they 
are  always  marriages  of  convenience,  and  in  this  case 
such  a  marriage  would  be  very  inconvenient  to  every- 
body, and  would  thoroughly  upset  all  her,  Anna's, 
pleasant,  easy  way  of  life.  A  widower  with  children 
has  naturally  to  find  a  woman  to  look  after  his  house ; 
and  a  poor  widow  is  as  a  rule  only  too  pleased  to 
meet  with  some  one  who  will  marry  her,  especially 
if  the  some  one  be  better  off  than  herself.  But  on 


204  Good  Old  Anna 

any  betrayal  of  sentiment  between  two  people  past 
early  youth  Anna  had  very  scant  mercy. 

She  had  also  noticed  lately,  with  mingled  regret 
and  contempt,  that  Mrs.  Otway  now  had  a  few  grey 
threads  in  her  fair,  curling  hair.  If  the  gracious  lady 
were  not  careful,  she  would  look  quite  old  and  ugly 
by  the  time  Major  Guthrie  came  back! 

At  intervals,  indeed  every  few  days,  Rose  received 
a  short,  and  of  course  read-by-the-censor  letter  from 
Jervis  Blake.  He  had  missed  the  first  onrush  of  the 
German  Army  and  the  Great  Retreat,  for  he  had  been 
what  they  called  "in  reserve,"  kept  for  nearly  three 
full  weeks  close  to  the  French  port  where  he  had 
landed.  Then  there  came  a  long,  trying  silence,  till 
a  letter  written  by  his  mother  to  Mrs.  Otway  revealed 
the  fact  that  he  was  at  last  in  the  fighting-line,  on  the 
river  Aisne. 

"You  have  always  been  so  kind  to  my  dear  boy 
that  I  know  you  will  be  interested  to  learn  that  lately 
he  has  been  in  one  or  two  very  dangerous  'scraps,' 
as  they  seem  to  be  called.  They  are  not  supposed 
to  tell  one  anything  in  their  letters,  and  Jervis  as  a 
matter  of  fact  no  longer  even  writes  postcards.  But 
my  husband  knows  exactly  where  he  is,  and  we  can 
but  hope  and  pray,  from  day  to  day,  that  he  is  safe." 

It  was  on  the  very  day  that  Mrs.  Otway  read  to 
Rose  this  letter  from  Lady  Blake  that  there  arrived 
at  the  Trellis  House  a  telegram  signed  Robert  Allen: 
"Have  ascertained  that  Major  Guthrie  is  alive  and 
prisoner  in  Germany.  Letter  follows." 

But  when  the  letter  came  it  told  tantalisingly  little, 
for  it  merely  conveyed  the  fact  that  the  name  of  Major 


Good  Old  Anna  205 

Guthrie  had  come  through  in  a  list  of  wounded  pris- 
oners supplied  to  the  Geneva  Red  Cross.  There  was 
no  clue  as  to  where  he  was,  or  as  to  his  condition,  and 
Mr.  Allen  ended  with  the  words :  "I  am  trying  to  get 
in  touch  with  the  American  Embassy  in  Berlin.  I  am 
told  that  it  is  the  best,  in  fact  the  only,  medium  for 
getting  authentic  news  of  wounded  prisoners." 

"The  gracious  lady  sees  that  I  was  right.  Never 
did  I  believe  the  Major  to  be  dead !  Officers  are  always 
behind  their  soldiers.  They  are  in  the  safe  place." 
Such  were  the  words,  uttered  of  course  in  German, 
with  which  Anna  greeted  the  great  news. 

As  Mrs.  Otway  turned  away,  and  silently  left  the 
kitchen,  the  old  woman  shook  her  head  with  an  im- 
patient gesture.  Why  make  all  that  fuss  over  the  fact 
that  Major  Guthrie  was  a  prisoner  in  Germany?  Anna 
could  imagine  no  happier  fate  just  now  than  that  of 
being  in  the  Fatherland — even  as  a  prisoner.  She 
could  remember  the  generous  way  in  which  the  French 
prisoners,  or  at  least  some  of  them,  had  been  treated 
in  1870.  Why,  the  then  Crown  Princess — she  who 
was  later  known  as  "the  Englishwoman" — had  always 
visited  those  wards  containing  the  French  prisoners 
first,  before  she  went  and  saw  the  German  wounded. 
Anna  could  remember  very  clearly  the  angry  remarks 
which  had  been  provoked  by  that  royal  lady's  action, 
as  also  by  her  strange  notion  that  the  wounded  re- 
quired plenty  of  fresh  air. 

Some  time  ago  Anna  had  seen  in  an  English  paper, 
in  fact  it  had  been  pointed  out  to  her  by  Mrs.  Otway 
herself,  that  the  German  Government  had  had  to  re- 
strain the  daughters  and  wives  of  the  Fatherland  from 
over-kindness  to  the  French. 


206  Good  Old  Anna 

Still,  when  all  was  said  and  done,  good  old  Anna 
was  genuinely  glad  that  Major  Guthrie  was  safe.  It 
would  make  her  gracious  lady  more  cheerful,  and  it 
also  provided  herself  with  a  little  bit  of  gossip  where- 
with to  secure  a  warmer  welcome  from  Alfred  Head 
when  she  went  along  to  supper  with  him  and  his  Polly 
this  very  evening. 

"That  sort  of  letter  may  be  very  valuable  in  our 
business — I  know  best  its  worth  to  me." 

The  owner  of  the  Witanbury  Stores  was  speaking 
English,  and  addressing  his  pretty  wife. 

Anna,  just  arrived,  had  at  once  become  aware  that 
the  atmosphere  was  electric,  that  something  very  like 
a  quarrel  was  going  on  between  Alfred  Head  and 
Polly.  Mrs.  Head  looked  very  angry,  and  there  was 
a  red  spot  on  each  of  her  delicately  tinted  cheeks. 

Only  half  the  table  had  been  laid  for  supper  under 
the  bright  pendant  lamp ;  on  the  other  half  were  spread 
out  some  dirty-looking  letters.  In  each  letter  a  num- 
ber of  lines  had  been  heavily  blacked  out — on  one  in- 
deed there  was  very  little  left  of  the  original  writing. 

"It's  such  rubbish!"  Polly  said  crossly.  "Why, 
by  spending  a  penny  each  Sunday  on  The  News  of 
the  World  or  on  Reynolds? st  you'd  see  a  lot  more  let- 
ters than  you've  got  there,  and  all  nicely  printed,  too!" 

She  turned  to  the  visitor:  "Alfred  can't  spare  me 
half  a  sovereign  for  something  I  want  really  badly, 
but  he  can  give  seven-and-sixpence  to  a  dirty  old 
woman  for  a  sight  of  all  that  muck !"  Snatching  one 
of  the  letters  off  the  table,  she  began  reading  aloud: 
"My  dear  Mum,  I  hope  that  this  finds  you  as  well 
as  it  does  me.  We  are  giving  it  to  the  Allemans,  as 


Good  Old  Anna  207 

they  call  them  out  here,  right  in  the  neck."  She 
waved  the  sheet  she  was  reading  and  exclaimed,  "And 
then  comes  four  lines  so  scrubbed  about  that  even  the 
Old  Gentleman  himself  couldn't  read  them !  Still,  it's 
for  that  Alfred  here  is  willing  to  pay : 

Her  husband  interrupted  her  furiously :  "Put  that 
down  at  once?  D'you  hear,  Polly?  I'm  the  best  judge 
of  what  a  thing's  worth  to  me  in  my  business.  If  I 
give  Mrs.  Tippins  seven-and-sixpence  for  her  letters, 
they're  worth  seven-and-sixpence  to  me  and  a  bit  over. 
See?  I  shouldn't  'a  thought  it  was  necessary  to  tell 
you  that!" 

He  turned  to  Anna,  and  said  rapidly  in  German: 
"The  man  who  wrote  these  letters  is  a  sergeant.  He's 
a  very  intelligent  fellow.  As  you  see,  he  writes  quite 
long  letters,  and  there  are  a  lot  of  little  things  that  I 
find  it  well  worth  my  while  to  make  a  note  of.  In 
fact,  as  I  told  you  before,  Frau  Bauer,  I  am  willing 
to  pay  for  the  sight  of  any  good  long  letter  from  the 
British  Front.  I  should  much  like  to  see  some  from 
officers,  and  I  prefer  those  that  are  censored — I  mean 
blacked  out  like  these.  The  military  censors  so  far 
are  simple  folk."  He  laughed,  and  Anna  laughed  too, 
without  quite  knowing  why.  "I  should  have  expected 
that  Major  whose  mother  died  just  after  the  war 
broke  out,  to  be  writing  to  your  ladies.  Has  he  not 
done  so  yet?" 

"The  news  has  just  come  this  very  day,  that  he  is 
a  prisoner;  but  they  do  not  yet  know  where  he  is 
imprisoned,"  said  Anna  eagerly. 

"That  is  good  news,"  observed  her  host  genially. 
"In  spite  of  all  my  efforts,  I  could  never  obtain  that 
dratted  Major's  custom.  But  do  not  any  of  the 


2o8  Good  Old  Anna 

younger  officers  write  to  your  young  lady,  in  that 
strange  English  way?"  and  he  fixed  his  prominent 
eyes  on  her  face,  as  if  he  would  fain  look  Anna 
through  and  through.  "I  had  hoped  that  we  should  be 
able  to  do  so  much  business  together,"  he  said. 

"I  have  told  you  of  the  postcards "  She  spoke 

in  an  embarrassed  tone. 

"Ach!  Yes.  And  I  did  pay  you  a  trifle  for  a 
sight  of  them.  But  that  was  really  politeness,  for,  as 
you  know,  there  was  nothing  in  the  postcards  of  the 
slightest  use  to  me." 

Anna  remained  silent.  She  was  of  course  well 
aware  that  her  young  lady  often  received  letters,  short, 
censored  letters,  from  Mr.  Jervis  Blake.  But  Rose 
kept  them  in  some  secret  place;  also  nothing  would 
have  tempted  good  old  Anna  to  show  one  of  her 
darling  nursling's  love-letters  to  unsympathetic  eyes. 

Alfred  Head  turned  to  his  wife.  "Now,  Polly," 
he  said  conciliatingly,  "you  asked  me  for  what  I  am 
paying."  He  took  up  the  longest  of  the  letters  off 
the  table.  "See  here,  my  dear.  This  man  gives  a 
list  of  what  he  would  like  his  mother  to  send  him 
every  ten  days.  As  a  matter  of  fact  that  is  how  I  first 
knew  Mrs.  Tippins  had  these  letters.  She  brought 
one  along  to  show  me,  to  see  if  I  could  get  her  some- 
thing special.  Part  of  the  letter  has  been  blacked 
out,  but  of  course  I  found  it  very  easy  to  take  that 
blacking  out,"  he  chuckled.  "And  what  had  been 
blacked  out  was  as  a  matter  of  fact  very  useful  to 
me!" 

Seeing  that  his  wife  still  looked  very  angry  and 
lowering,  he  took  a  big  five-shilling  piece  out  of  his 
pocket  and  threw  it  across  at  her.  "There!"  he  cried 


Good  Old  Anna  209 

good-naturedly — "catch!  Perhaps  I  will  make  it  up 
to  the  ten  shillings  in  a  day  or  two — if,  thanks  to  these 
letters,  I  am  able  to  do  a  good  stroke  of  business!" 

Anna  looked  at  him  with  fascinated  eyes.  The  man 
seemed  made  of  money.  He  was  always  jingling 
silver  in  his  pocket.  Gold  was  rather  scarce  just  then 
in  Witanbury,  but  whenever  Anna  saw  a  half- 
sovereign,  she  always  managed  somehow  to  get  hold 
of  it.  In  fact  she  kept  a  store  of  silver  and  of  paper 
money  for  that  purpose,  for  she  knew  that  Mr.  Head, 
as  he  was  now  universally  called,  would  give  her  three- 
pence over  its  face  value  if  it  was  ten  shillings,  and 
fivepence  if  it  was  a  sovereign.  She  had  already  made 
several  shillings  in  this  very  easy  way. 

As  she  walked  home,  after  having  enjoyed  a  frugal 
supper,  she  told  herself  that  it  was  indeed  unfortunate 
that  Major  Guthrie  was  wounded  and  missing.  Had 
he  still  been  with  his  regiment,  he  would  certainly 
have  written  to  Mrs.  Otway  frequently.  Anna,  in 
the  past,  had  occasionally  found  long  letters  from  him 
torn  up  in  the  waste-paper  basket,  and  she  had  also 
seen,  in  the  days  that  now  seemed  so  long  ago,  letters 
in  the  same  hand  lying  about  on  Mrs.  Otway's  writing- 
table. 


CHAPTER  XX 

OCTOBER  and  November  wore  themselves  away, 
and  the  days  went  by,  the  one  very  like  the 
other.  Mrs.  Otway,  after  her  long  hours  of  work, 
or  of  official  visiting  among  the  soldiers'  and  sailors' 
wives  and  mothers,  fell  into  the  way  of  going  out 
late  in  the  afternoon  for  a  walk  by  herself.  She  had 
grown  to  dread  with  a  nervous  dislike  the  constant 
meeting  with  acquaintances  and  neighbours,  the  usual 
rather  futile  exchange  of  remarks  about  the  War,  or 
about  the  local  forms  of  war  and  charitable  work  in 
which  she  and  they  were  now  all  engaged.  The  still- 
ness and  the  solitariness  of  the  evening  walk  soothed 
her  sore  and  burdened  heart. 

Often  she  would  walk  to  Dorycote  and  back,  feel- 
ing that  the  darkened  streets — for  Witanbury  had  fol- 
lowed the  example  of  London — and,  even  more,  the 
country  roads  beyond,  were  haunted,  in  a  peaceful 
sense,  by  the  presence  of  the  man  who  had  so  often 
taken  that  same  way  from  his  house  to  hers. 

It  was  during  one  of  these  evening  walks  that  there 
came  to  her  a  gleam  of  hope  and  light,  and  from  a 
source  from  which  she  would  never  have  expected  it 
to  come. 

She  was  walking  swiftly  along  on  her  way  home, 
going  across  the  edge  of  the  Market  Square,  when 
she  heard  herself  eagerly  hailed  with  "Is  it  Mrs. 
Otway?"  She  stopped,  and  answered,  not  very 
graciously,  "Yes,  I'm  Mrs.  Otway — who  is  it?" 

210 


Good  Old  Anna  211 

There  came  a  bubble  of  laughter,  and  she  knew 
that  this  was  a  very  old  acquaintance  indeed,  a  Mrs. 
Riddick,  whom  she  had  not  seen  for  some  time. 

"I  don't  wonder  you  didn't  know  me!  It's  im- 
possible to  see  anything  by  this  light.  I've  been  having 
such  an  adventure!  I  only  came  back  from  Holland 
yesterday.  I  went  to  meet  a  young  niece  of  mine 
there — you  know,  the  girl  who  was  in  Germany  so 
long."  * 

"In  Germany?"  Mrs.  Otway  turned  round  eagerly. 
"Is  she  with  you  now?  How  I  should  like  to  see 
her!" 

"I'm  afraid  you  can't  do  that.  She's  gone  to  Scot- 
land. I  sent  her  off  there  last  night.  Her  parents 
have  been  nearly  frantic  about  her!" 

"Did  she  see — did  she  hear  anything  of  the  English 
prisoners  while  she  was  in  Germany?"  Mrs.  Otway's 
voice  sounded  strangely  pleading  in  the  darkness,  and 
the  other  felt  a  little  surprised. 

"Oh,  no!  She  was  virtually  a  prisoner  herself. 
But  I  hear  a  good  deal  of  information  is  coming 
through — I  mean  unofficial  information  about  our 
prisoners.  My  sister — you  know,  Mrs.  Vereker — is 
working  at  that  place  they've  opened  in  London  to 
help  people  whose  friends  are  prisoners  in  Germany. 
She  says  they  sometimes  obtain  wonderful  results. 
They  work  in  with  the  Geneva  Red  Cross,  and  from 
what  I  can  make  out,  it's  really  better  to  go  there 
than  to  write  to  the  Foreign  Office.  I  went  and  saw 
my  sister  yesterday,  when  I  was  coming  through  Lon- 
don. I  was  really  most  interested  in  all  she  told  me — 
such  pathetic,  strange  stories,  such  heart-breaking  epi- 
sodes, and  then  now  and  again  something  so  splendid 


212  Good  Old  Anna 

and  happy!  A  girl  came  to  them  a  fortnight  ago  in 
dreadful  trouble,  every  one  round  her  saying  her  lover 
had  been  killed  at  Mons,  though  she  herself  hoped 
against  hope.  Well,  only  yesterday  morning  they  were 
able  to  wire  to  her  that  he  was  safe  and  well,  being 
kindly  treated  too,  in  a  fortress,  far  away,  close  to 
the  borders  of  Prussia  and  Poland!  Wasn't  that 
splendid?" 

"What  is  the  address  of  the  place,"  asked  Mrs. 
Otway  in  a  low  tone,  "where  Mrs.  Vereker  works?" 

"It's  in  Arlington  Street— No.  20,  I  think." 

Mrs.  Otway  hastened  on,  her  heart  filled  with  a 
new,  eager  hope.  Oh,  if  she  could  only  go  up  now, 
this  evening,  to  London!  Then  she  might  be  at  20, 
Arlington  Street,  the  first  thing  in  the  morning. 

Alas,  she  knew  that  this  was  not  possible;  every 
hour  of  the  next  morning  was  filled  up. 

There  was  no  one  to  whom  she  could  delegate  her 
morning  round  among  those  soldiers'  mothers  and 
wives  with  whom  she  now  felt  in  such  close  touch  and 
sympathy.  But  she  might  possibly  escape  the  after- 
noon committee  meeting,  at  which  she  was  due,  if 
Miss  Forsyth  would  only  let  her  off.  The  ladies  of 
Witanbury  were  very  much  under  the  bondage  of 
Miss  Forsyth,  and  subject  to  her  will ;  none  more  so 
than  the  good-tempered,  yielding  Mary  Otway. 

Unluckily  one  of  those  absurd  little  difficulties  which 
are  always  cropping  up  at  committees  was  on  the 
agenda  for  to-morrow  afternoon,  and  Miss  Forsyth 
was  counting  on  her  help  to  quell  a  certain  trouble- 
some person.  Still,  she  might  go  now,  on  her  way 
home,  and  see  if  Miss  Forsyth  would  relent. 


Good  Old  Anna  213 

Miss  Forsyth  lived  in  a  beautiful  old  house  which, 
though  its  approach  was  in  a  narrow  street,  yet  di- 
rectly overlooked  at  the  back  the  great  green  lawns 
surrounding  the  cathedral. 

The  house  had  been  left  to  her  many  years  ago, 
but  she  had  never  done  anything  to  it.  Unaffected 
by  the  many  artistic  and  other  crazes  which  had  swept 
over  the  country  since  then,  it  remained  a  strange 
mixture  of  beauty  and  ugliness.  Miss  Forsyth  loved 
the  beauty  of  her  house,  and  she  put  up  with  what 
ugliness  there  was  because  of  the  major  part  of  her 
income,  which  was  not  very  large,  had  to  be  spent, 
according  to  her  theory  of  life,  on  those  less  fortunate 
than  herself. 

At  the  present  moment  all  her  best  rooms,  those 
rooms  which  overlooked  her  beloved  cathedral,  had 
been  given  up  by  her  to  a  rather  fretful-natured  and 
very  dissatisfied  Belgian  family,  and  so  she  had  taken 
up  her  quarters  on  the  darker  and  colder  side  of  her 
house,  that  which  overlooked  the  street. 

It  was  there,  in  a  severe-looking  study  on  the  ground 
floor,  that  Mrs.  Otway  found  her  this  evening. 

As  her  visitor  was  ushered  in  by  the  cross-looking 
old  servant  who  was  popularly  supposed  to  be  the 
only  person  of  whom  Miss  Forsyth  stood  in  fear,  she 
got  up  and  came  forward,  a  very  kindly,  welcoming 
look  on  her  plain  face. 

"Well,  Mary,"  she  said,  "what's  the  matter  now? 
Mrs.  Purlock  drunk  again,  eh?" 

"Well,  yes — as  a  matter  of  fact  the  poor  woman 
was  quite  drunk  this  morning!  But  I've  really  come 
to  know  if  you  can  spare  me  to-morrow  afternoon.  I 
want  to  go  to  London  on  business.  I  was  also  won- 


214  Good  Old  Anna 

dering  if  you  know  of  any  nice  quiet  hotel  or  lodging 
near  Piccadilly — I  should  prefer  a  lodging— where  I 
could  spent  two  nights  ?" 

"Near  Piccadilly?  Yes,  of  course  I  do — in  Half- 
Moon  Street.  I'll  engage  two  rooms  for  you.  And 
as  for  to-morrow,  I  can  spare  you  quite  well.  In  fact 
I  shall  probably  manage  better  alone.  Can't  you  go 
up  by  that  nice  early  morning  train,  my  dear?" 

Mrs.  Otway  shook  her  head.  "No,  I  can't  possibly 
get  away  before  the  afternoon.  You  see  I  must  look 
after  Mrs.  Purlock.  She  got  into  rather  bad  trouble 
this  morning.  And  oh,  Miss  Forsyth,  I'm  so  sorry 
for  her!  She  believes  her  two  boys  are  being  starved 
to  death  in  Germany.  Unfortunately  she  knows  that 
woman  whose  husband  signed  his  letter  'Your  loving 
Jack  Starving.'  It's  thoroughly  upset  Mrs.  Purlock, 
and  if,  as  they  all  say,  drink  drowns  thought  and 
makes  one  feel  happy,  can  we  wonder  at  all  the  drink- 
ing that  goes  on  just  now?  But  I'm  going  to  try 
to-morrow  morning  to  arrange  for  her  to  go  away  to 
a  sister — a  very  sensible,  nice  woman  she  seems,  who 
certainly  won't  let  her  do  anything  of  the  sort." 

"Surely  you're  rather  inconsistent?"  said  Miss  For- 
syth briskly.  "You  spoke  only  a  minute  ago  as  if  you 
almost  approved  of  drunkenness,"  but  there  was  an 
intelligent  twinkle  in  her  eye. 

Mrs.  Otway  smiled,  but  it  was  a  very  sad  smile. 
"You  know  quite  well,  dear  Miss  Forsyth,  that  I 
didn't  mean  that!  Of  course  I  don't  approve,  I  only 
meant  that — that  I  understand."  She  waited  a  mo- 
ment, and  then  added,  quietly,  and  with  a  little  sigh, 
"So  you  see  I  can't  go  up  to  town  to-morrow  morn- 


Good  Old  Anna  215 

ing.  What  I  want  to  do  there  will  wait  quite  well 
till  the  afternoon." 

Miss  Forsyth  accompanied  her  visitor  into  the  hall — 
the  old  eighteenth-century  hall  which  was  so  exquisitely 
proportioned,  but  the  walls  of  which  were  covered 
with  the  monstrously  ugly  mid-Victorian  marble  paper 
she  much  disliked,  but  never  felt  she  could  afford  to 
change  as  long  as  it  still  looked  so  irritatingly  "good" 
and  clean.  She  opened  the  front  door  on  to  the  empty, 
darkened  street ;  and  then,  to  Mrs.  Otway's  great  sur- 
prise, she  suddenly  bent  forward  and  kissed  her 
warmly. 

"Well,  my  dear,"  she  exclaimed,  "I'm  glad  to  have 
seen  you  even  for  a  moment,  and  I  hope  your  business, 
whatever  it  be,  will  be  successful.  I  want  to  tell  you 
something,  here  and  now,  which  I've  never  said  to 
you  yet,  long  as  we've  known  one  another !" 

"Yes,  Miss  Forsyth?"  Mrs.  Otway  looked  up  sur- 
prised— perhaps  a  little  apprehensive  as  to  what  was 
coming. 

"I  want  to  tell  you,  Mary,  that  to  my  mind  you 
belong  to  the  very  small  number  of  people,  of  my 
acquaintance  at  any  rate,  who  shall  see  God." 

Mrs.  Otway  was  startled  and  touched  by  the  other's 
words,  and  yet,  "I  don't  quite  know  what  you  mean?" 
she  faltered — and  she  really  didn't. 

"Don't  you?"  said  Miss  Forsyth  drily.  "Well,  I 
think  Mrs.  Purlock,  and  a  good  many  other  unhappy 
women  in  Witanbury,  could  tell  you." 

Late  in  the  next  afternoon,  after  leaving  the  little 
luggage  she  had  brought  with  her  at  the  old-fashioned 
lodgings  where  she  found  that  Miss  Forsyth  had  made 


216  Good  Old  Anna 

careful  arrangements  for  her  comfort,  even  to  order- 
ing what  she  should  have  for  dinner,  Mrs.  Otway 
made  her  way,  on  foot,  into  Piccadilly,  and  thence 
into  quiet  Arlington  Street. 

There  it  was  very  dark — too  dark  to  see  the  num- 
bers on  the  doors  of  the  great  houses  which  loomed 
up  to  her  right. 

Bewildered  and  oppressed,  she  touched  a  passer-by 
on  the  arm.  "Could  you  tell  me,"  she  said,  "which 
is  No.  20?"  And  he,  with  the  curious  inability  of 
the  average  Londoner  to  tell  the  truth  or  to  acknowl- 
edge ignorance  in  such  a  case,  at  once  promptly  an- 
swered, "Yes,  miss.  It's  that  big  house  standing  back 
here,  in  the  courtyard." 

She  walked  through  the  gate  nearest  to  her,  and 
so  up  to  a  portico.  Then,  after  waiting  for  a  moment, 
she  rang  the  bell. 

The  moments  slipped  by.  She  waited  full  five 
minutes,  and  then  rang  again.  At  last  the  door 
opened. 

"Is  this  the  place,"  she  said  falteringly,  "where 
one  can  make  inquiries  as  to  the  prisoners  of  war  in 
Germany?"  And  the  person  who  opened  the  door 
replied  curtly,  "No,  it's  next  door  to  the  right.  A 
lot  of  people  makes  that  mistake.  Luckily  the  family 
are  away  just  now — or  it  would  be  even  a  greater 
botheration  than  it  is!" 

Sick  at  heart,  she  turned  and  walked  around  the 
paved  courtyard  till  she  reached  the  street.  Then  she 
turned  to  her  right.  A  door  flush  on  the  street  was 
hospitably  open,  throwing  out  bright  shafts  of  light 
into  the  darkness.  Could  it  be — she  hoped  it  was — 
here? 


Good  Old  Anna  217 

For  a  moment  she  stood  hesitating  in  the  thresh- 
old. The  large  hall  was  brilliantly  lit  up,  and  at 
a  table  there  sat  a  happy- faced,  busy-looking  little  Boy 
Scout.  He,  surely,  would  not  repulse  her?  Gather- 
ing courage  she  walked  up  to  him. 

"Is  this  the  place,"  she  asked,  "where  one  makes 
inquiries  about  prisoners  of  war?" 

He  jumped  up  and  saluted.  "Yes,  madam,"  he 
said  civilly.  "You've  only  got  to  go  up  those  stairs 
and  then  round  the  top,  straight  along.  There  are 
plenty  of  ladies  up  there  to  show  you  the  way." 

As  she  walked  towards  the  great  staircase,  and  as 
her  eyes  fell  on  a  large  panoramic  oil  painting  of  a 
review  held  in  a  historic  English  park  a  hundred  years 
before,  she  remembered  that  it  was  here,  in  this  very 
house,  that  she  had  come  to  a  great  political  reception 
more  than  twenty  years  ago — in  fact  just  after  her 
return  from  Germany.  She  had  been  taken  to  it  by 
James  Hayley's  parents,  and  she,  the  happy,  eager 
girl,  had  enjoyed  every  moment  of  what  she  had 
heard  with  indignant  surprise  some  one  describe  as 
a  boring  function. 

As  she  began  walking  up  the  staircase,  there  rose 
before  her  a  vision  of  what  had  been  to  her  so  delight- 
ful and  brilliant  a  scene — the  women  in  evening  dress 
and  splendid  jewels;  the  men,  many  of  them  in  uni- 
form or  court  dress;  all  talking  and  smiling  to  one 
another  as  they  slowly  made  their  way  up  the  wide, 
easy  steps. 

She  remembered  with  what  curiosity  and  admira- 
tion she  had  looked  at  the  figure  of  her  host.  There 
he  had  stood,  a  commanding,  powerful,  slightly  stoop- 
ing figure,  welcoming  his  guests.  For  a  moment  she 


2i 8  Good  Old  Anna 

had  looked  up  into  his  bearded  face,  and  met  his 
heavy-lidded  eyes  resting  on  her  bright  young  face, 
with  a  half-smile  of  indulgent  amusement  at  her  look 
of  radiant  interest  and  happiness. 

This  vivid  recollection  of  that  long-forgotten  Vic- 
torian "crush"  had  a  good  effect  on  Mary  Otway.  It 
calmed  her  nervous  tremor,  and  made  her  feel,  in  a 
curious  sense,  at  home  in  that  great  London  house. 

Running  round  the  top  of  the  staircase  was  a  narrow 
way  where  girls  sitting  at  typewriters  were  busily 
working.  But  they  had  all  kind,  intelligent  faces,  and 
they  all  seemed  anxious  to  help  and  speed  her  on  her 
way. 

"Mrs.  Vereker?  Oh  yes,  you'll  find  her  at  once 
if  you  go  along  that  gallery  and  open  the  door  at  the 
end." 

She  walked  through  into  a  vast  room  where  a 
domed  and  painted  ceiling  now  looked  down  on  a 
very  curious  scene.  With  the  exception  of  some  large 
straight  settees,  all  the  furniture  which  had  once  been 
in  this  great  reception-room  had  been  cleared  away. 
In  its  place  were  large  office  tables,  plain  wooden 
chairs,  and  wire  baskets  piled  high  with  letters  and 
memoranda.  The  dozen  or  so  people  there  were  all 
intent  on  work  of  some  sort,  and  though  now  and 
again  some  one  got  up  and  walked  across  to  ask  a 
question  of  a  colleague,  there  was  very  little  coming 
or  going.  Personal  inquirers  generally  came  early  in 
the  day. 

As  she  stood  just  inside  the  door,  Mary  Otway 
knew  that  it  was  here,  twenty  years  ago,  that  she  had 
seen  the  principal  guests  gathered  together.  She  re- 
called the  intense  interest,  the  awe,  the  sympathy  with 


Good  Old  Anna  219 

which  she  had  looked  at  one  figure  in  that  vanished 
throng.  It  had  been  the  figure  of  a  woman  dressed 
in  the  deep  mourning  of  a  German  widow,  the  severity 
of  the  costume  lightened  only  by  the  beautiful  Orders 
pinned  on  the  breast. 

At  the  time  she,  the  girl  of  that  far-off  day,  had 
only  just  come  back  from  Germany,  and  the  Imperial 
tragedy,  which  had  as  central  figure  one  so  noble  and 
so  selfless,  had  moved  her  eager  young  heart  very 
deeply.  She  remembered  how  hurt  she  had  felt  at 
hearing  her  cousin  mutter  to  his  wife,  "I'm  sorry  she 
is  here.  She  oughtn't  to  have  come  to  this  kind  of 
thing.  Royalties,  especially  foreign  Royalties,  should 
have  no  politics."  And  with  what  satisfaction  she 
had  heard  Mrs.  Hayley's  spirited  rejoinder:  "What 
nonsense!  She  hasn't  come  because  it's  political,  but 
because  it's  English.  She  loves  England,  and  every- 
thing to  do  with  England!" 

The  vision  faded,  and  she  walked  forward  into  the 
strangely  changed  room. 

"Can  I  speak  to  Mrs.  Vereker?"  she  asked,  timidly 
addressing  one  of  the  ladies  nearest  the  door.  Yet  it 
was  with  unacknowledged  relief  that  she  received  the 
answer:  "I'm  so  sorry,  but  Mrs.  Vereker  isn't  here. 
She  left  early  this  afternoon.  Is  there  anything  / 
can  do  for  you?  Do  you  want  to  make  inquiries 
about  a  prisoner?" 

And  then,  as  Mrs.  Otway  said,  "Yes,"  the  speaker 
went  on  quickly,  "I  think  I  shall  do  just  as  well  if 
you  will  kindly  give  me  the  particulars.  Let  us  come 
over  here  and  sit  down ;  then  we  shan't  be  disturbed." 

Mrs.  Otway  looked  up  gratefully  into  the  kind  face 
of  the  woman  speaking  to  her.  It  was  a  comfort  to 


22O  Good  Old  Anna 

know  that  she  was  going  to  tell  her  private  concerns 
to  a  stranger,  and  not  to  the  sister  of  an  acquaintance 
living  at  Witanbury. 

The  few  meagre  facts  were  soon  told,  and  then  she 
gave  her  own  name  and  address  as  the  person  to  whom 
the  particulars,  if  any  came  through,  were  to  be  for- 
warded. 

"I'll  see  that  the  inquiries  are  sent  on  to  Geneva 
to-night.  But  you  mustn't  be  disappointed  if  you  get 
no  news  for  a  while.  Sometimes  news  is  a  very  long 
time  coming  through,  especially  if  the  prisoner  was 
wounded,  and  is  still  in  hospital."  The  stranger  added, 
with  real  sympathy  in  her  voice,  "I'm  afraid  you're 
very  anxious,  Mrs.  Otway.  I  suppose  Major  Guthrie 
is  your  brother?" 

And  then  the  other  answered  quietly,  "No,  he's 
not  my  brother.  Major  Guthrie  and  I  are  engaged  to 
be  married." 

The  kind,  sweet  face,  itself  a  sad  and  anxious  face, 
changed  a  little — it  became  even  fuller  of  sympathy 
than  it  had  been  before.  "You  must  try  and  keep  up 
courage,"  she  exclaimed.  "And  remember  one  thing — 
if  Major  Guthrie  was  really  severely  wounded,  he's 
probably  being  very  well  looked  after."  She  waited 
a  moment,  and  then  went  on,  "In  any  case,  you  haven't 
the  anguish  of  knowing  that  he's  in  perpetual  danger; 
my  boy  is  out  there,  so  I  know  what  it  feels  like  to 
realize  that." 

.There  was  a  moment  of  silence,  and  then,  "I  won- 
der," said  Mrs.  Otway,  "if  you  would  mind  having 
the  inquiries  telegraphed  to-night?"  She  opened  her 
bag.  "I  brought  a  five-pound  note 

But  the  other  shook  her  head.     "Oh,  no.     You 


Good  Old  Anna  221 

needn't  pay  anything,"  she  said.  "We're  always  quite 
willing  to  telegraph  if  there's  any  good  reason  for 
doing  so.  But  you  know  it's  very  important  that  the 
name  should  be  correctly  spelt,  and  the  particulars 
rightly  transmitted.  That's  why  it's  really  better  to 
write.  But  of  course  I'll  ask  them  to  telegraph  to  you| 
at  once  if  they  get  any  news  here  on  a  day  or  at  a  time 
I  happen  to  be  away." 

Together  they  walked  to  the  door  of  the  great 
room,  and  the  woman  whose  name  she  was  not  to 
know  for  a  long  time,  and  who  was  the  first  human 
being  to  whom  she  had  told  her  secret,  pressed  her 
hand  warmly. 

Quietly  Mrs.  Otway  walked  through  into  the  gal- 
lery, and  then  she  burst  out  crying  like  a  child.  It 
was  with  her  handkerchief  pressed  to  her  face  that 
she  walked  down  the  gallery,  and  so  round  to  the 
great  staircase.  No  one  looked  at  her  as  she  passed 
so  woefully  by;  they  were  all  only  too  well  used  to 
such  sights.  But  before  she  reached  the  front  door 
she  managed  to  pull  herself  together,  and  was  able  to 
give  the  jolly  little  Boy  Scout  a  friendly  farewell  nod. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

EARLY  that  afternoon,  after  her  mother  had  left 
the  Trellis  House,  Rose  went  upstairs  to  her 
own  room.  She  had  been  working  very  hard  all  that 
morning,  helping  to  give  some  last  touches  of  pretti- 
ness  and  comfort  to  the  fine,  airy  rooms  at  "Robey's," 
which  had  now  been  transformed  into  Sir  Jacques 
Robey's  Red  Cross  Hospital.  As  a  matter  of  fact, 
everything  had  been  ready  for  the  wounded  who, 
after  having  been  awaited  with  anxious  impatience 
for  weeks,  were  now  announced  as  being  due  to  arrive 
to-morrow. 

Meanwhile  Anna,  her  hands  idle  for  once,  sat  at 
her  kitchen  table.  She  was  wearing  her  best  black 
silk  apron,  and  open  in  front  of  her  was  her  Gesang- 
buch,  or  hymnbook. 

Thus  was  Anna  celebrating  the  anniversary  of  her 
husband's  death.  Gustav  Bauer  had  been  a  very  un- 
satisfactory helpmeet,  but  his  widow  only  chose  to 
remember  now  the  little  in  him  that  had  been  good. 

Calmly  she  began  reading  the  contents  of  her  hymn- 
book  to  herself.  All  the  verses  were  printed  as  if  in 
prose,  which  of  course  made  it  easier  as  well  as  pleas- 
anter  to  read. 

As  she  spoke  the  words  to  herself,  her  eyes  filled 
with  tears,  and  she  longed,  with  an  intense,  wordless 
longing,  to  be  in  the  Fatherland,  especially  now,  dur- 
ing this  strange  and  terrible  time.  She  keenly  resented 
not  being  able  to  write  to  her  niece,  Minna,  in  Berlin. 

222 


Good  Old  Anna  223 

Since  her  happy  visit  there  three  years  before,  that 
little  household  had  been  very  near  her  heart,  nearer 
far  than  that  of  her  own  daughter,  Louisa.  But  Louisa 
was  now  to  all  intents  and  purposes  an  Englishwoman. 

It  was  too  true  that  the  many  years  she  had  been 
in  England  had  not  made  good  old  Anna  think  better 
of  English  people,  and,  as  was  natural,  her  prejudices 
had  lately  become  much  intensified.  She  lived  in  a 
chronic  state  of  wonder  over  the  laziness,  the  thrift- 
lessness,  and  the  dirt  of  Englishwomen.  She  had  de- 
scribed those  among  whom  she  dwelt  to  her  niece 
Minna  in  the  following  words:  "They  wash  them- 
selves from  head  to  foot  each  day,  but  more  never. 
Their  houses  are  dreadful,  and  linen  have  they  not!" 

Those  words  had  represented  her  exact  opinion 
three  years  ago,  and  she  had  had  no  reason  to  change 
it  since. 

On  this  dull,  sad,  November  afternoon  she  suddenly 
remembered  the  delightful  Ausflug,  or  "fly  out,"  as 
it  is  so  happily  called,  when  she  had  accompanied 
Willi  and  his  Minna  to  Wannsee,  on  the  blue  Havel. 

How  happy  they  had  all  been  that  day !  The  little 
party  had  brought  their  own  coffee  and  sugar,  but 
they  had  had  many  a  delicious  glass  of  beer  as  well. 
All  had  been  joy  and  merriment. 

It  was  bitter  to  know  that  some  people  heard  from 
Germany  even  now.  There  was  little  doubt  in  her 
mind  that  Manfred  Hegner,  or  rather  Alfred  Head, 
as  she  was  learning  to  call  him  at  his  very  particular 
request,  was  in  communication  with  the  Fatherland. 
He  had  as  good  as  said  so  the  last  time  she  had  seen 
him;  adding  the  unnecessary  warning  that  she  must 


224  Good  Old  Anna 

be  careful  not  to  tell  any  one  so  in  Witanbury,  as  it 
might  do  him  harm. 

Anna  was  naturally  a  prudent  woman,  and  she  had 
become  quite  proud  of  Alfred  Head's  friendship  and 
confidence.  She  much  enjoyed  the  evenings  she  now 
so  often  spent  in  the  stuffy  little  parlour  behind  the 
large,  airy  shop.  Somehow  she  always  left  there  feel- 
ing happy  and  cheerful.  The  news  that  he  gave  her 
of  the  Fatherland,  and  of  what  was  happening  on  the 
various  fighting  fronts,  was  invariably  glorious  and 
comforting.  He  smiled  with  good-natured  contempt 
at  the  "Kitcheners"  who  were  beginning  to  flood  the 
old  cathedral  city  with  an  ever-growing  tide  of  khaki, 
and  who  brought  him  and  all  his  fellow-tradesmen  in 
Witanbury  such  increased  prosperity. 

"Fine  cannon-fodder !"  Mr.  Head  would  exclaim,  of 
course  in  German.  "But  no  good  without  the  rifles, 
the  ammunition,  and  above  all  the  guns,  which  I  hear 
they  have  not !" 

Every  one  was  still  very  kind  to  Anna,  and  her 
ladies'  friends  made  no  difference  in  their  manner — 
in  fact  they  were  perhaps  a  shade  more  cordial  and 
kindly.  Nevertheless  the  old  woman  realised  that 
feeling  towards  Germany  and  the  Germans  had  under- 
gone a  surprising  change  during  the  last  few  weeks. 
No,  it  was  not  the  War — not  even  the  fact  that  so 
many  Englishmen  had  already  been  killed  by  German 
guns  and  shells.  The  change  was  owing — amazing  and 
almost  incredible  fact — to  the  behaviour  of  the  Ger- 
man Army  in  Belgium! 

Anna  hated  Belgium  and  the  Belgians.  She  could 
not  forget  how  unhappy  and  ill-used  she  had  been  in 
Ostend;  and  yet  now  English  people  of  all  classes 


Good  Old  Anna  225 

hailed  the  Belgians  as  heroes,  and  were  treating  them 
as  honoured  guests !  She,  Anna,  knew  that  the  women 
of  Belgium  had  put  out  the  eyes  of  wounded  German 
soldiers;  she  had  read  the  fact  in  one  of  the  German 
newspapers  Mr.  Head  had  managed  to  smuggle 
through.  The  paper  had  said,  very  truly,  as  she 
thought,  that  no  punishment  for  such  conduct  could 
be  too  severe. 

And  as  she  sat  there,  on  this  melancholy  anniversary 
afternoon,  thinking  sad,  bitter  thoughts,  her  dear  young 
lady  opened  the  door. 

"I  had  a  letter  from  Mr.  Blake  this  morning,  and 
I  think  you'll  like  to  read  it,  Anna!  He  speaks  in  it 
so  kindly  of  some  German  soldiers  who  gave  them- 
selves up.  I  haven't  time  to  stop  and  read  it  to  you 
now.  But  I  think  you  can  read  it,  for  he  writes  very, 

very  clearly.  This  is  where  it  begins "  she  pointed 

half-way  down  the  first  sheet.  "I  shan't  be  back  till 
eight  o'clock.  There's  a  great  deal  to  do  if,  as  Sir 
Jacques  believes,  some  wounded  are  really  likely  to 
arrive  to-morrow."  Her  face  shadowed,  and  that  of 
the  old  woman  looking  fondly  up  at  her,  softened. 

"There's  a  little  piece  of  beautiful  cold  mutton," 
exclaimed  Anna  in  German.  "Would  my  darling  child 
like  that  for  her  supper — with  a  nice  little  potato  salad 
as  well?" 

But  Rose  shook  her  head.  "No,  I  don't  feel  as  if 
I  want  any  meat.  I'll  have  anything  else  there  is, 
and  some  fruit." 

A  moment  later  she  was  gone,  and  Anna  turned  to 
the  closely-written  sheets  of  paper  with  great  interest. 
She  read  English  writing  with  difficulty,  but,  as  her 
beloved  young  lady  had  said  truly,  Mr.  Blake's  hand- 


226  Good  Old  Anna 

writing  was  very  clear.    And  this  is  what  she  spelled 
out: 

"A  great  big  motor  lorry  came  up,  full  of  prisoners, 
and  our  fellows  soon  crowded  round  it.  They  were 
fine,  upstanding,  fair  men,  and  looked  very  tired  and 
depressed — as  well  they  might,  for  we  hear  they've 
had  hardly  anything  to  eat  this  last  week!  I  offered 
one  of  them,  who  had  his  arm  bound  up,  a  cigarette. 
He  took  it  rather  eagerly.  I  thought  I'd  smoke  one 
too,  to  put  him  at  his  ease,  but  I  had  no  matches,  so 
the  poor  chap  hooked  out  some  from  his  pocket  and 
offered  me  one.  This  is  a»  funny  world,  Rose!  Fancy 
those  thirteen  German  prisoners  in  that  motor  lorry, 
and  that  they  were  once — in  fact  only  an  hour  or  so 
ago — doing  their  best  to  kill  us,  while  now  we  are 
doing  our  best  to  cheer  them  up.  Then  to-morrow 
we  shall  go  out  and  have  a  good  try  at  killing  their 
comrades.  Mind  you,  they  look  quite  ordinary  people. 
Not  one  of  them  has  a  terrible  or  a  brutal  face.  They 
look  just  like  our  men — in  fact  rather  less  soldierly 
than  our  men ;  the  sort  of  chaps  you  might  see  walking 
along  a  street  in  Witanbury  any  day.  One  of  them 
looked  so  rosy  and  sunburnt,  so  English,  that  we 
mentioned  it  to  the  interpreter.  He  translated  it  to 
the  man,  and  I  couldn't  help  being  amused  to  see  that 
he  looked  rather  sick  at  being  told  he  looked  like  an 
Englishman.  Another  man,  who  I'm  bound  to  say  did 
not  look  English  at  all,  had  actually  lived  sixteen  years 
in  London,  and  he  talked  in  quite  a  Cockney  way." 

Anna  read  on: 


Good  Old  Anna  227 

"I  have  at  last  got  into  a  very  comfortable  billet. 
As  a  matter  of  fact  it's  a  pill  factory  belonging  to  an 
eccentric  old  man  called  Puteau.  All  over  the  house, 
inside  and  out,  he  has  had  painted  two  huge  P's,  sig- 
nifying Pilules  Puteau.  For  a  long  time  no  use  was 
made  of  the  building,  as  it  was  thought  too  good  a 
mark.  But  for  some  reason  or  other  the  Boches  have 
left  it  alone.  Be  that  as  it  may,  one  of  our  fellows 
discovered  a  very  easy  way  of  reaching  it  from  the 
back,  and  now  no  one  could  tell  the  place  is  occupied, 
in  fact  packed,  with  our  fellows.  The  best  point  about 
it  is  that  there  is  a  huge  sink,  as  large  as  a  bath.  You 
can  imagine  what  a  comfort " 

And  then  the  letter  broke  off.  Rose  had  only  left 
that  part  of  it  she  thought  would  interest  her  old 
nurse.  The  beginning  and  the  end  were  not  there. 

Anna  looked  at  the  sheets  of  closely-written  paper 
in  front  of  her  consideringly.  There  was  not  a  word 
about  food  or  kit — not  a  word,  that  is,  which  by  any 
stretch  of  the  imagination  could  be  of  any  use  to  a 
man  like  Mr.  Head  in  his  business.  On  the  other 
hand,  there  was  not  a  word  in  the  letter  which  Miss 
Rose  could  dislike  any  one  reading.  The  old  woman 
was  shrewd  enough  to  know  that.  She  would  like 
Mr.  Head  to  see  that  letter,  for  it  would  prove  to 
him  that  her  ladies  did  receive  letters  from  officers. 
And  the  next  one  might  after  all  contain  something 
useful. 

She  looked  up  at  the  kitchen  clock.  It  was  now 
four  o'clock.  And  then  a  sudden  thought  made  up 
good  old  Anna's  mind  for  her. 

Miss  Rose  had  said  she  did  not  want  any  meat  for 


228  Good  Old  Anna 

her  supper;  but  she  was  fond  of  macaroni  cheese. 
Anna  would  never  have  thought  of  making  that  dish 
with  any  cheese  but  Parmesan,  and  she  had  no  Par- 
mesan left  in  the  house.  That  fact  gave  her  an  excel- 
lent excuse  for  going  off  now  to  the  Stores,  and  taking 
Mr.  Blake's  letter  with  her.  If  she  got  an  opportunity 
of  showing  it,  it  would  make  clear  to  Mr.  Head  what 
a  good  fellow  was  Miss  Rose's  betrothed,  and  what  a 
kind  heart  he  had. 

And  so,  but  for  Rose's  remark  as  to  her  distaste  for 
meat,  Jervis  Blake's  letter  would  not  have  been  taken 
by  old  Anna  out  of  the  Trellis  House,  for  it  was  the 
lack  of  Parmesan  cheese  in  the  store  cupboard  which 
finally  decided  the  matter. 

After  putting  on  her  green  velvet  bonnet  and  her 
thick,  warm  brown  jacket,  she  folded  up  the  sheets  of 
French  notepaper  and  put  them  in  an  inside  pocket. 

The  fact  that  it  was  early  closing  day  did  not  dis- 
turb Anna,  for  though  most  of  the  Witanbury  trades- 
people were  so  ungracious  that  when  their  shops  were 
shut  they  would  never  put  themselves  out  to  oblige 
an  old  customer,  the  owner  of  the  Stores,  if  he  was 
in — and  he  nearly  always  did  stay  indoors  on  early 
closing  day — was  always  willing  to  go  into  the  closed 
shop  and  get  anything  that  was  wanted.  He  was  not 
one  to  turn  good  custom  away. 

The  back  door  was  opened  by  Alfred  Head  himself. 
"Ah,  Frau  Bauer !  Come  into  the  passage."  He  spoke 
in  German,  but  in  spite  of  his  cordial  words  she  felt 
the  lack  of  welcome  in  his  voice.  "Is  there  anything 
I  can  do  for  you?" 

"Yes,"  she  said.  "I  want  half  a  pound  of  Parmesan 
cheese,  and  you  might  also  give  me  a  pound  of  butter." 


Good  Old  Anna  229 

"Oh,  certainly.  Come  through  into  the  shop."  He 
turned  on  the  light.  "I  do  not  ask  you  into  the 
parlour,  for  the  simple  reason  that  I  have  some  one 
there  who  has  come  to  see  me  on  business — it  is  busi- 
ness about  one  of  my  little  mortgages.  Polly  is  out, 
up  at  the  Deanery.  Her  sister  is  not  going  to  stay 
on  there;  she  has  found  some  excuse  to  go  away.  It 
makes  her  so  sad  and  mopish  to  be  always  with  Miss 
Haworth.  Even  now,  after  all  this  time,  the  young 
lady  will  hardly  speak  at  all.  She  does  not  glory  in 
her  loss,  as  a  German  betrothed  would  do!" 

"Poor  thing!"  said  old  Anna  feelingly.  "Women 
are  not  like  men,  Herr  Hegner.  They  have  tender 
hearts.  She  thinks  of  her  dead  lover  as  her  beloved 
one — not  as  a  hero.  For  my  part,  my  heart  aches 
for  the  dear  young  lady,  when  I  see  her  walking  about, 
all  dressed  in  black." 

They  were  now  standing  in  the  big  empty  shop. 
Alfred  Head  turned  to  the  right  and  took  off  a  gen- 
erous half-pound  from  the  Parmesan  cheese  which,  as 
Anna  knew  well,  was  of  a  very  much  better  quality,  if 
of  rather  higher  price,  than  were  any  of  the  other  Par- 
mesan cheeses  sold  in  Witanbury.  But  she  was  rather 
shocked  to  note  that  the  butter  had  not  been  put  away 
in  the  refrigerator.  That,  of  course,  was  Mrs.  Head's 
fault.  A  German  housewife  would  have  seen  to  that. 
There  the  butter  lay,  ready  for  the  next  morning's  sale, 
put  up  in  half-pounds  and  pounds.  Mr.  Head  took 
up  one  of  the  pounds,  and  deftly  began  making  a  neat 
parcel  of  the  cheese  and  of  the  butter.  She  felt  that 
he  was  in  a  hurry  to  get  rid  of  her,  and  yet  she  was 
burning  to  show  him  young  Mr.  Blake's  letter. 

She  coughed,  and  then,  a  little  nervously,  she  ob- 


230  Good  Old  Anna 

served:  "You  were  saying  some  days  ago  that  you 
would  like  to  see  some  officers'  letters  from  the  Front. 
That  being  so,  I  have  brought  part  of  a  letter  from 
Mr.  Jervis  Blake  to  show  you.  There  is  nothing  in  it 
concerning  food  or  kit,  but  still  it  is  very  long,  and 
shows  that  the  young  man  is  a  good  fellow.  If  you 
are  busy,  however,  it  may  not  be  worth  your  while  to 
look  at  it  now." 

Alfred  Head  stopped  in  what  he  was  doing.  "Could 
you  leave  it  with  me?"  he  asked. 

Anna  shook  her  head.  "No,  that  I  cannot  do.  My 
young  lady  left  it  for  me  to  read,  and  though  she  said 
she  would  not  be  back  till  eight,  she  might  run  in  any 
moment,  for  she  is  only  over  at  Robey's,  helping  with 
the  hospital.  They  are  expecting  some  wounded  to- 
morrow. They  have  waited  long  enough,  poor  ladies !" 

The  old  woman  was  standing  just  under  the  electric 
light;  there  was  an  anxious,  embarrassed  look  on  her 
face. 

The  man  opposite  to  her  hesitated  a  moment,  then 
he  said  quickly,  "Very  well,  show  it  me !  It  will  not 
take  a  moment.  I  will  tell  you  at  once  if  it  is  of  any 
use.  Perhaps  it  will  be." 

She  fumbled  a  moment  in  her  inside  pocket,  and 
brought  out  Jervis  Blake's  letter. 

He  took  up  the  sheets,  and  put  them  close  to  his 
prominent  eyes.  Quickly  he  glanced  through  the  ac- 
count of  the  German  prisoners,  and  then  he  began  to 
read  more  slowly.  "Wait  you  here  one  moment,"  he 
said  at  last.  "I  will  go  and  tell  my  visitor  that  J  am 
engaged  for  another  minute  or  two.  Then  I  will 
come  back  to  you,  and  read  the  letter  through  prop- 
erly, though  the  writer  is  but  a  silly  fellow !" 


Good  Old  Anna  231 

Still  holding  the  letter  in  his  hand,  he  hurried  away. 

Anna  was  in  no  hurry.  But  even  so,  she  began  to 
grow  a  little  fidgety  when  the  moment  of  which  he 
had  spoken  grew  into  something  like  five  minutes.  She 
felt  sorry  she  had  brought  her  dear  child's  letter. — 
"Dummer  Kerl"  indeed !  Mr.  Jervis  Blake  was  noth- 
ing of  the  sort — he  was  a  very  kind,  sensible  young 
fellow!  She  was  glad  when  at  last  she  heard  Mr. 
Head's  quick,  active  steps  coming  down  the  short 
passage. 

"Here!"  he  exclaimed,  coming  towards  her. 
"Here  is  the  letter,  Frau  Bauer!  And  though  it  is 
true  that  there  is  nothing  in  it  of  any  value  to  me, 
yet  I  recognise  your  good  intention.  The  next  time 
there  may  be  something  excellent.  I  therefore  give 
you  a  florin,  with  best  thanks  for  having  brought  it. 
Instead  of  all  that  gossip  concerning  our  poor  pris- 
oners, it  would  have  been  better  if  he  had  said  what 
it  was  that  he  liked  to  eat  as  a  relish  to  the  bully 
beef  on  which,  it  seems,  the  British  are  universally 
fed." 

Anna's  point  of  view  changed  with  lightning  quick- 
ness. What  a  good  thing  she  had  brought  the  letter ! 
Two  shillings  was  two  shillings,  after  all. 

"Thanks  many,"  she  said  gratefully,  as  he  hurried 
her  along  the  passage  and  unlocked  the  back  door. 
But,  as  so  often  happens,  it  was  a  case  of  more  haste 
less  speed — the  door  slammed-to  before  the  visitor 
could  slip  out,  and  at  the  same  moment  that  of  the 
parlour  opened,  and  Anna,  to  her  great  surprise,  heard 
the  words,  uttered  in  German,  "Look  here,  Hegner! 
I  really  can't  stay  any  longer.  You  forget  that  I've 
a  long  way  to  go."  She  could  not  see  the  speaker, 


232  Good  Old  Anna 

though  she  did  her  best  to  do  so,  as  her  host  thrust 
her,  with  small  ceremony,  out  of  the  now  reopened 
door. 

Anna  felt  consumed  with  curiosity.  She  crossed 
over  the  little  street,  and  hid  herself  in  the  shadow  of 
a  passage  leading  to  a  mews.  There  she  waited,  de- 
termined to  see  Alfred  Head's  mysterious  visitor. 

She  had  not  time  to  feel  cold  before  the  door 
through  which  she  had  lately  been  pushed  so  quickly 
opened  again,  letting  out  a  short,  thin  man,  dressed 
in  a  comfortable  motoring  coat.  She  heard  very 
plainly  the  good-nights  exchanged  in  a  low  voice. 

As  soon  as  the  door  shut  behind  him,  the  prosper- 
ous-looking stranger  began  walking  quickly  along. 
Anna,  at  a  safe  distance,  followed  him.  He  turned 
down  a  side  street,  where,  drawn  up  before  a  house 
inscribed  "to  let,"  stood  a  small,  low  motor-car.  In 
it  sat  a  Boy  Scout.  She  knew  he  was  a  Boy  Scout  by 
his  hat,  for  the  lad's  uniform  was  covered  by  a  big 
cape. 

She  walked  quietly  on,  and  so  passed  the  car.  As 
she  went  by,  she  heard  Hegner's  friend  say  in  a  kindly 
voice,  and  in  excellent  English,  albeit  there  was  a 
twang  in  it,  "I  hope  you've  not  been  cold,  my  boy. 
My  business  took  a  little  longer  than  I  thought  it 
would."  And  the  shrill,  piping  answer,  "Oh  no,  sir! 
I  have  been  quite  all  right,  sir !"  And  then  the  motor 
gave  a  kind  of  snort,  and  off  they  went,  at  a  sharp 
pace,  towards  the  Southampton  road. 

Anna  smiled  to  herself.  Manfred  Hegner  was  a 
very  secretive  person — she  had  always  known  that. 
But  why  tell  her  such  a  silly  lie  ?  Hegner  was  getting 
quite  a  big  business  man;  he  had  many  irons  in  the 


Good  Old  Anna  233 

fire — some  one  had  once  observed  to  Anna  that  he 
would  probably  end  by  becoming  a  millionaire.  It 
is  always  well  to  be  in  with  such  lucky  folk. 

As  she  opened  the  gate  of  the  Trellis  House,  she 
saw  that  her  mistress's  sitting-room  was  lit  up,  and 
before  she  could  put  the  key  in  the  lock  of  the  front 
door,  it  opened,  and  Rose  exclaimed  in  an  anxious 
tone,  "Oh,  Anna!  Where  have  you  been?  Where 
is  my  letter?  I  looked  all  over  the  kitchen,  but  I 
couldn't  find  it." 

Old  Anna  smilingly  drew  it  out  from  the  inside 
pocket  of  her  jacket.  "There,  there !"  she  said  sooth- 
ingly. "Here  it  is,  dearest  child.  I  thought  it  safer 
to  take  it  along  with  me  than  to  leave  it  in  the 
house." 

"Oh,  thank  you — yes,  that  was  quite  right!"  the 
girl  looked  greatly  relieved.  "Mr.  Robey  said  he 
would  very  much  like  to  read  it,  so  I  came  back  for 
it.  And  Anna?" 

"Yes,  my  gracious  miss." 

"I  am  going  to  stay  there  to  supper  after  all.  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Robey,  and  even  Sir  Jacques,  seem  anxious 
that  I  should  do  so." 

"And  I  have  gone  out  and  got  you  such  a  nice 
supper,"  said  the  old  woman  regretfully. 

"I'll  have  it  for  lunch  to-morrow!"  Rose  looked 
very  happy  and  excited.  There  was  a  bright  colour 
in  her  cheeks.  "Mr.  Robey  thinks  that  Mr.  Blake 
will  soon  be  getting  ninety  hours'  leave."  Her  heart 
was  so  full  of  joy  she  felt  she  must  tell  the  delightful 
news. 

"That  is  good — very  good!"  said  Anna  cordially. 


234  Good  Old  Anna 

"And  then,  my  darling  little  one,  there  will  be  a  proper 
betrothal,  will  there  not?" 

Rose  nodded.  ''Yes,  I  suppose  there  will,"  she  said 
in  German. 

"And  perhaps  a  war  wedding,"  went  on  Anna,  her 
face  beaming.  "There  are  many  such  just  now  in 
Witanbury.  In  my  country  they  began  the  first  day 
of  the  War." 

"I  know."  Rose  smiled.  "One  of  the  Kaiser's  sons 
was  married  in  that  way.  Don't  you  remember  my 
bringing  you  an  account  of  it,  Anna?"  She  did  not 
wait  for  an  answer.  "Well,  I  must  hurry  back  now." 

The  old  woman  went  off  into  her  kitchen,  and  so 
through  the  scullery  into  her  cosy  bedroom. 

The  walls  of  that  quaint,  low-roofed  apartment 
were  gay  with  oleographs,  several  being  scenes  from 
Faust,  and  one,  which  Anna  had  had  given  to  her 
nearly  forty  years  ago,  showed  the  immortal  Char- 
lotte, still  cutting  bread  and  butter. 

On  the  dressing-table,  one  at  each  end,  were  a 
pair  of  white  china  busts  of  Bismarck  and  von  Moltke. 
Anna  had  brought  these  back  from  Berlin  three  years 
before.  Of  late  she  had  sometimes  wondered  whether 
it  would  be  well  to  put  them  away  in  one  of  the  three 
large,  roomy  cupboards  built  into  the  wall  behind  her 
bed.  One  of  these  cupboards  already  contained  sev- 
eral securely  packed  parcels  which,  as  had  been  par- 
ticularly impressed  on  Anna,  must  on  no  account  be 
disturbed,  but  there  was  plenty  of  room  in  the  two 
others.  Still,  no  one  ever  came  into  her  oddly  situated 
bedroom,  and  so  she  left  her  heroes  where  they  were. 

After  taking  off  her  things,  she  extracted  the  two- 
shilling  piece  out  of  the  pocket  where  it  had  lain 


Good  Old  Anna  235 

loosely,  and  added  it  to  the  growing  store  of  silver  in 
the  old-fashioned  tin  box  where  she  kept  her  money. 
Then  she  put  on  her  apron  and  hurried  out,  with  the 
cheese  and  the  butter  in  her  hands,  to  the  beautifully 
arranged,  exquisitely  clean  meat  safe,  which  had  been 
cleverly  fixed  to  one  of  the  windows  of  the  scullery 
soon  after  her  arrival  at  the  Trellis  House. 

The  next  morning  Mrs.  Otway  came  home,  and 
within  an  hour  of  her  arrival  the  mother  and  daughter 
had  told  one  another  their  respective  secrets.  The 
revelation  came  about  as  such  things  have  a  way  of 
coming  about  when  two  people,  while  caring  deeply 
for  one  another,  are  yet  for  the  moment  out  of  touch 
with  each  other's  deepest  feelings.  It  came  about, 
that  is  to  say,  by  a  chance  word  uttered  in  entire 
ignorance  of  the  real  state  of  the  case. 

Rose,  on  hearing  of  her  mother's  expedition  to 
Arlington  Street,  had  shown  surprise,  even  a  little 
vexation:  "You've  gone  and  tired  yourself  out  for 
nothing — a  letter  would  have  done  quite  as  well!" 

And,  as  her  mother  made  no  answer,  the  girl,  seeing 
as  if  for  the  first  time  how  sad,  how  worn,  that  same 
dear  mother's  face  now  looked,  came  close  up  to  her 
and  whispered,  "I  think,  mother — forgive  me  if  I'm 
wrong — that  you  care  for  Major  Guthrie  as  I  care  for 
Jervis  Blake." 


CHAPTER  XXII 

THE  days  that  followed  Mrs.  Otway's  journey  to 
London,  the  easy  earning  by  good  old  Anna  of  a 
florin  for  Alfred  Head's  brief  sight  of  Jervis  Blake's 
letter,  and  the  exchange  of  confidences  between  the 
mother  and  daughter,  were  comparatively  happy, 
peaceful  days  at  the  Trellis  House. 

Her  visit  to  20,  Arlington  Street,  had  greatly 
soothed  and  comforted  Mrs.  Otway.  She  felt  sure 
somehow  that  those  kind,  capable  people,  and  espe- 
cially the  unknown  woman  who  had  been  so  very  good 
and — and  so  very  understanding,  would  soon  send  her 
the  tidings  for  which  she  longed.  For  the  first  time, 
too,  since  she  had  received  Major  Guthrie's  letter 
she  forgot  herself,  and  in  a  measure  even  the  man  she 
loved,  in  thought  for  another.  Rose's  confession  had 
moved  her  greatly,  stirred  all  that  was  maternal  in  her 
heart.  But  she  was  far  more  surprised  than  she  would 
have  cared  to  admit,  for  she  had  always  thought  that 
Rose,  if  she  married  at  all,  would  marry  a  man  con- 
siderably older  than  herself.  With  a  smile  and  a  sigh, 
she  told  herself  that  the  child  must  be  in  love  with 
love! 

Jervis  and  the  girl  were  both  still  so  very  young — 
though  Rose  was  in  a  sense  much  the  older  of  the  two, 
or  so  the  mother  thought.  She  was  secretly  glad 
that  there  could  be  no  talk  of  marriage  till  the  end  of 
the  War.  Even  then  they  would  probably  have  to 
wait  two  or  three  years.  True,  General  Blake  was  a 

236 


Good  Old  Anna  237 

wealthy  man,  but  Jervis  was  entirely  dependent  on  his 
father,  and  his  father  might  not  like  him  to  marry 
yet. 

The  fact  that  Rose  had  told  her  mother  of  her  en- 
gagement had  had  another  happy  effect.  It  had  re- 
stored, in  a  measure,  the  good  relations  between  Mrs. 
Otway  and  her  faithful  old  servant,  Anna  Bauer. 
Anna  kept  to  herself  the  fact  that  she  had  guessed  the 
great  news  long  before  it  had  become  known  to  the 
mother,  and  so  she  and  her  mistress  rejoiced  together 
in  the  beloved  child's  happiness. 

And  Rose  was  happy  too — far  happier  than  she  had 
yet  been  since  the  beginning  of  the  War.  Twice  in 
recent  letters  to  her  Jervis  had  written,  "I  wish  you 
would  allow  me  to  tell  my  people — you  know  what!" 
and  now  she  was  very,  very  glad  to  release  him  from 
secrecy.  She  was  too  modest  to  suppose  that  General 
and  Lady  Blake  would  be  pleased  with  the  news  of 
their  only  son's  engagement.  But  she  felt  it  their  due 
that  they  should  know  how  matters  stood  betwixt  her 
and  Jervis.  If  they  did  not  wish  him  to  marry  soon, 
she  and  Jervis,  so  she  assured  herself,  would  be  quite 
content  to  wait. 

Towards  the  end  of  that  peaceful  week  there  came 
quite  an  affectionate  telegram  from  Lady  Blake,  ex- 
plaining that  the  great  news  had  been  sent  to  her  and 
to  her  husband  by  their  son.  The  telegram  was  fol- 
lowed by  a  long  loving  letter  from  the  mother,  invit- 
ing Rose  to  stay  with  them. 

Mrs.  Otway  would  not  acknowledge  even  to  herself 
how  relieved  she  felt.  She  had  been  afraid  that 
General  Blake  would  regard  his  son's  engagement  as 
absurd,  and  she  was  surprised,  knowing  him  slightly 


238  Good  Old  Anna 

and  not  much  liking  what  little  she  knew  of  him,  at 
the  kindness  and  warmth  with  which  he  wrote  to  her. 

"Under  ordinary  circumstances  I  should  not  have 
approved  of  my  son's  making  so  early  a  marriage,  but 
everything  is  now  changed.  And  though  I  suppose 
it  would  not  be  reasonable  to  expect  such  a  thing,  I 
should  be,  for  my  part,  quite  content  were  they  to 
be  married  during  the  leave  to  which  I  understand  he 
will  shortly  be  entitled." 

But  on  reading  these  words,  Mrs.  Otway  had  shaken 
her  head  very  decidedly.  What  an  odd,  very  odd, 
man  General  Blake  must  be!  She  felt  sure  that 
neither  Jervis  nor  Rose  would  think  of  doing  such  a 
thing.  It  was,  however,  quite  natural  that  Jervis's 
parents  should  wish  to  have  Rose  on  a  visit;  and  of 
course  Rose  must  go  soon,  and  try  to  make  good 
friends  with  them  both — not  an  over-easy  matter,  for 
they  were  very  different  and,  as  Mrs.  Otway  knew, 
not  on  really  happy  terms  the  one  with  the  other. 

There  was  some  little  discussion  as  to  who  in 
Witanbury  should  be  told  of  Rose's  engagement.  It 
seemed  hopeless  to  keep  the  affair  a  secret.  For  one 
thing,  the  officials  at  the  Post  Office  knew — they  had 
almost  shown  it  by  their  funny,  smiling  manner  when 
Rose  had  gone  in  to  send  her  answer  to  Lady  Blake's 
telegram.  But  the  first  to  be  informed  officially,  so 
to  speak,  must  of  course  be  the  Dean  and  the  Robeys. 

Dr.  Haworth  had  aged  sadly  during  the  last  few 
weeks.  Edith  was  going  to  nurse  in  a  French  hos- 
pital, and  she  and  her  mother  had  gone  away  for  a 
little  change  first.  And  so,  as  was  natural,  the  Dean 
came  very  often  to  the  Trellis  House;  and  though, 
when  he  was  told  of  Rose's  engagement,  he  sighed 


Good  Old  Anna  239 

wearily,  still  he  was  most  kind  and  sympathetic — • 
though  he  could  not  help  saying,  in  an  aside  to  Mrs. 
Otway,  "I  should  never  have  thought  Rose  would 
become  the  heroine  of  a  Romeo  and  Juliet  affair! 
They  both  seem  to  me  so  very  young.  Luckily  there's 
no  hurry.  It  looks  as  if  this  war  was  going  to  be  a 

long,  long  war "  and  he  had  shaken  his  head  very 

mournfully. 

Poor  Dr.  Haworth !  An  imprudent  passage  uttered 
in  the  first  sermon  he  had  delivered  after  the  declara- 
tion of  war  had  been  dragged  out  of  its  context,  and 
had  figured,  weeks  later,  in  the  London  papers.  As  a 
result  he  had  had  many  cruel  anonymous  letters,  and, 
what  had  been  harder  to  bear,  reproaches  from  old 
and  tried  friends. 

But  what  was  far,  far  worse  to  the  Dean  than  these 
mosquito  bites  was  the  fact  that  his  own  darling  child, 
Edith,  could  not  forgive  him  for  having  had  so  many 
German  friends  in  the  old  days.  Her  great  loss,  which 
in  theory  should  have  softened  her,  had  had  just  the 
opposite  effect.  It  had  made  her  bitter,  bitter;  and 
during  the  weeks  which  had  followed  the  receipt  of 
the  fatal  news  she  had  hardly  spoken  to  her  father. 
This  was  the  more  unreasonable — nay,  the  more 
cruel — of  her  inasmuch  as  it  had  been  her  mother,  to 
whom  she  now  clung,  who  had  so  decidedly  set  her 
face  against  the  hasty  marriage  which  poor  Edith  was 
now  always  regretting  had  not  taken  place. 

But  if  the  Dean's  congratulations  were  saddened  by 
his  own  melancholy  situation,  those  of  the  Robeys 
were  clear  and  sunshiny.  They  knew  Jervis  Blake, 
and  they  regarded  Rose  as  a  very  lucky  girl.  They 


240  Good  Old  Anna 

also  knew  Rose,  and  they  regarded  Jervis  Blake  as  a 
very  lucky  man. 

True,  Mrs.  Robey,  when  alone  with  her  husband 
after  first  hearing  the  news,  had  said,  rather  nervously, 
"I  hope  more  than  ever  now  that  nothing  will  happen 
to  dear  Jervis!"  And  he  had  turned  on  her  almost 
with  ferocity:  "Happen  to  Jervis?  Of  course  nothing 
will  happen  to  Jervis!  As  I've  often  told  you,  it's 
the  impulsive,  reckless  boys  who  get  killed — not  born 
soldiers,  like  Jervis.  He  knows  that  his  life  is  now 
valuable  to  his  country,  and  you  may  be  sure  that  he 
takes  all  reasonable  precautions  to  preserve  it." 

And  as  she  did  not  answer  at  once,  he  had  gone  on 
hurriedly:  "Of  course  one  can't  tell;  we  may  see  his 
name  in  the  list  of  casualties  to-morrow  morning! 
But  if  I  were  you,  my  dear,  I  should  not  build  a  bridge 
to  meet  trouble!" 

As  a  matter  of  fact  Mrs.  Robey  had  no  time  to 
waste  on  such  an  unprofitable  occupation.  Her 
brother-in-law,  the  great  surgeon,  Sir  Jacques  Robey, 
and  all  his  best  nurses  had  been  now  waiting  for 
quite  a  long  time  for  wounded  who  never  came ;  and 
it  required  a  good  deal  of  diplomacy  and  tact  on  Mrs. 
Robey's  part  to  keep  them  all  in  a  good  humour,  and 
on  fairly  pleasant  terms  with  her  own  original  house- 
hold. 

Rose's  engagement  was  now  ten  days  old,  and  she 
was  about  to  start  for  her  visit  to  her  future  parents- 
in-law,  when  early  one  afternoon  the  Dean,  who  had 
been  lunching  with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Robey,  rang  the  bell 
of  the  Trellis  House. 

"Die  Herrschaft  ist  nicht  zu  Hwsf  ("The  family 


Good  Old  Anna  241 

are  not  at  home.").  Anna  was  smiling  in  the  friendliest 
way  at  the  Dean.  He  had  always  been  in  a  very 
special  sense  kind  to  her,  and  never  kinder  than  during 
the  last  fourteen  weeks. 

"Do  you  expect  them  back  soon?  It  is  very 
urgent,"  he  exclaimed,  of  course  speaking  German; 
and  the  smile  on  Anna's  face  faded,  so  sad  did  he  look, 
and  so  concerned. 

"Oh,  most  reverend  Doctor!"  she  cried,  joining 
her  hands  together,  "do  not  say  that  anything  has 
happened  to  the  Betrothed  of  my  young  lady?" 

"Yes,"  he  said  sadly.  "Something  has  happened, 
Anna,  but  it  might  be  much  worse.  The  Betrothed  of 
your  young  lady  has  been  severely  wounded.  But  re- 
flect on  the  wonderful  oganisation  of  our  Red  Cross! 
Mr.  Blake  was  wounded,  I  believe,  yesterday  after- 
noon, and  it  is  expected  that  he  will  be  here,  in  Sir 
Jacques  Robey's  care,  in  a  few  hours  from  now !" 

Even  as  he  was  speaking,  a  telegraph  boy  hurried 
up  to  the  door. 

"This  is  evidently  to  tell  your  ladies  that  which  I 
had  hoped  to  be  able  to  break  to  them.  So  I  will  not 
stop  now."  And  as  Anna  stared  at  him  with  woe- 
begone eyes,  he  said  kindly : 

"It  might  have  been,  as  I  said  just  now,  infinitely 
worse.  I  am  told  that  there  is  a  great  difference  be- 
tween the  words  severely  and  dangerously.  Had  he 
been  dangerously  wounded,  he  could  not  possibly  have 
been  moved  to  England.  And  consider  what  a  com- 
fort it  will  be  to  the  poor  girl  to  have  him  here,  within 
a  stone's  throw.  Why,  she  will  be  able  to  be  with  him 
all  the  time.  Yes,  yes,  it  might  be  worse — a  great 


242  Good  Old  Anna 

deal  worse!"     He  added  feelingly,  "It  is  a  very  sad 
time  that  we  are  all  living  through." 

He  held  out  his  hand  and  grasped  the  old  woman's 
hard,  work-worn  fingers  very  warmly  in  his.  Dr. 
Haworth,  as  the  good  people  of  Witanbury  were  fond 
of  reminding  one  another — generally  in  a  commenda- 
tory, though  sometimes  in  a  complaining,  tone — was 
a  real  gentleman. 

There  followed  hours  of  that  merciful  rush  and 
bustle  which  at  such  moments  go  a  long  way  to  deaden 
suspense  and  pain.  General  and  Lady  Blake  were 
arriving  this  evening,  and  the  spare  room  of  the 
Trellis  House  had  to  be  got  ready  for  them,  and 
Rose's  room — a  lengthier  matter  this — transformed 
into  a  dressing-room. 

But  at  last  everything  was  ready,  and  then  Rose 
went  off,  alone,  to  the  station,  to  meet  the  London 
express. 

The  train  was  very  late,  and  as  she  paced  up  and 
down  the  long  platform  she  began  wondering,  with  a 
kind  of  weary,  confused  wonder,  whether  there  had 
been  an  accident,  for  now  everything  startling  and 
dreadful  seemed  within  the  bounds  of  possibility. 
Yesterday  with  what  eagerness  would  she  have  bought 
two  or  three  evening  papers — but  now  the  thought  of 
doing  so  did  not  even  occur  to  her. 

Yesterday — nay,  to-day,  up  to  three  hours  ago — she 
had  been  so  happy,  lacking  even  that  latent  anxiety 
which  had  been  with  her  for  so  long,  for  she  had 
supposed  Jervis  to  be  out  of  the  trenches,  resting. 
In  fact,  for  the  first  time  she  had  not  been  thinking 


Good  Old  Anna  243 

much  of  Jervis,  for  her  mind  had  been  filled  with  her 
coming  visit  to  London. 

She  was  but  very  slightly  acquainted  with  Sir  John 
Blake,  and  she  felt  rather  frightened  of  him — of  the 
father  whom  Jervis  loved  and  feared.  True,  he  had 
written  her  a  very  kind,  if  a  very  short,  note ;  but  she 
had  been  afraid  that  she  would  not  please  him — that 
he  would  not  approve  of  Jervis's  choice.  .  .  . 

At  last  the  train  came  in.  There  was  a  great  crowd 
of  people,  and  her  eyes  sought  in  vain  for  the  tall,  still 
active  figure  she  vaguely  remembered.  Then  sud- 
denly she  saw  Lady  Blake — Lady  Blake  looking  about 
her  with  an  anxious,  bewildered  face,  which  changed 
to  eager  relief  when  the  girl  grasped  her  hand. 

"Is  this  Rose?  Dear  little  Rose!  I  am  alone,  dear 
child.  I  have  not  brought  a  maid.  My  husband  went 
down  to  Southampton  early  this  morning  to  wait  for 
the  hospital  ship.  I  was  so  grateful  for  your  mother's 
kind  telegram.  It  will  be  an  infinite  comfort  to  stay 
with  you  both.  But  I  think  Sir  John  may  find  it  more 
convenient  to  stay  at  an  hotel."  She  grew  a  little 
pink,  and  Rose  Otway,  whose  perceptions  as  to  a  great 
deal  that  is  sad  or  strange  in  human  nature,  had  grown 
of  late,  felt  a  little  rush  of  anger  against  Sir  John 
Blake. 

As  they  left  the  station,  Rose  was  able  to  ask  the 
questions  she  was  longing  to  ask.  But  Lady  Blake 
knew  nothing.  "No,  we  have  had  no  details  at  all. 
Only  just  the  telegram  telling  us  that  he  has  been 
severely  wounded — severely,  you  know,  is  much  less 
serious  than  dangerously — and  that  he  was  being  sent 
to  Sir  Jacques  Robey's  hospital  at  Witanbury.  It 
seems  so  strange  that  Jervis  should  be  coming  here — 


244  Good  Old  Anna 

so  strange,  but,  my  dear,  so  very  happy  too!  My 
husband  says  that  they  probably  show  the  wounded 
officers  a  list  of  hospitals,  and  perhaps  give  them  a 
certain  measure  of  choice." 

They  did  not  say  much  during  the  short  drive  to 
the  Close;  they  simply  held  each  other's  hands.  And 
Rose's  feeling  of  indignation  against  Jervis's  father 
grew  and  grew.  How  could  he  be  impatient,  still 
less  unkind,  to  this  sweet,  gentle  woman? 

There  followed  a  time  of  anxious  waiting  at  the 
Trellis  House,  and,  reluctantly,  Rose  began  to  under- 
stand why  Sir  John  Blake  was  impatient  with  his  wife. 
Lady  Blake  could  not  sit  still ;  and  she  made  no  effort 
to  command  her  nerves.  In  her  gentle  voice  she  sug- 
gested every  painful  possibility,  from  the  torpedoing 
of  the  hospital  ship  in  the  Channel  to  a  bad  break 
down,  or  even  a  worse  accident,  to  the  motor  ambu- 
lances which  were  to  convey  Jervis  and  four  other 
wounded  officers  to  Witanbury. 

But  at  last,  when  even  Sir  Jacques  himself  had  quite 
given  them  up  for  that  night,  three  motor  ambulances 
drove  into  the  Close,  and  round  to  the  temporary 
hospital. 

And  then  such  a  curious,  pathetic  scene  took  place 
in  the  courtyard  of  "Robey's."  Improvised  flares  and 
two  electric  reading-lamps,  brought  hurriedly  through 
the  windows  of  the  drawing-room,  shone  on  the  group 
of  waiting  people — nurses  ready  to  step  forward  when 
wanted ;  Sir  Jacques  Robey  and  a  young  surgeon  who 
had  come  up  from  the  Witanbury  Cottage  Hospital; 
Lady  Blake  trembling  with  cold  and  excitement  close 
to  Mrs.  Otway  and  Rose ;  and  a  number  of  others  who 
had  less  reason  and  excuse  for  being  there. 


Good  Old  Anna  245 

From  a  seat  by  one  of  the  drivers  there  jumped 
down  Sir  John  Blake.  He  looked  round  him  with  a 
keen  glance,  and  then  made  his  way  straight  to  where 
his  wife  was  standing.  Taking  no  notice  of  her,  he 
addressed  the  girl  standing  by  her  side.  "Is  this 
Rose,"  he  said — "Rose  Otway?"  and  taking  her  hand 
gripped  it  hard.  "He's  borne  the  journey  very  well," 
he  said  quickly,  reassuringly;  and  then,  at  last,  he 
looked  at  his  wife.  She  was  gazing  at  him  with 
imploring,  anxious  eyes.  "Well,"  he  said  impatiently, 
"well,  my  dear,  what  is  it  you  want  to  say  to  me  ?" 

She  murmured  something  nervously,  and  Rose  hur- 
riedly said,  "Lady  Blake  wants  to  know  where  Jervis 
was  wounded." 

"A  fragment  of  shell  struck  his  left  arm — but  the 
real  mischief  was  done  to  his  right  leg.  When  the 
building  in  which  he  and  his  company  were  resting 
was  shelled,  a  beam  fell  on  it.  I  should  have  thought 
myself  that  it  would  have  been  better  to  have  kept 
him,  for  at  any  rate  a  while,  at  Boulogne.  But  they 
now  think  it  wiser,  if  it  be  in  any  way  possible,  to 
bring  them  straight  back." 

Rose  hardly  heard  what  he  said.  She  was  absorbed 
in  wondering  which  of  the  stretchers  now  being 
brought  out  of  the  ambulances  bore  the  form  of  Jervis 
Blake ;  but  she  accepted,  with  a  quiet  submission  which 
increased  the  great  surgeon's  already  good  opinion  of 
her,  his  decree  that  no  one  excepting  himself  and  his 
nurses  was  to  see  or  speak  to  any  of  the  wounded  that 
night. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

HP  I  ME  and  the  weather  run  through  the  roughest 
•*•  day."  It  may  be  doubted  if  Rose  Otway  knew 
that  consoling  old  proverb,  but  with  her  time,  even  in 
the  shape  of  a  very  few  days,  and  perhaps,  too,  the 
weather,  which  was  remarkably  fine  and  mild  for  the 
time  of  year,  soon  wrought  a  wonderful  change. 

And  as  she  sat  by  Jervis  Blake's  bedside,  on  a  bright, 
sunny  day  in  late  November,  it  seemed  to  her  as  if 
she  had  nothing  left  to  wish  for.  The  two  nurses 
who  attended  on  him  so  kindly  and  so  skilfully  told 
her  that  he  was  going  on  well — far  better,  in  fact, 
than  they  could  have  expected.  And  though  Sir 
Jacques  Robey  did  not  say  much,  she  had  no  reason  to 
suppose  him  other  than  satisfied.  True,  Jervis's  face 
looked  strained  and  thin,  and  there  was  a  cradle  over 
his  right  foot,  showing  where  the  worst  injury  had 
been.  But  the  wound  in  his  shoulder  was  healing 
nicely,  and  once  or  twice  he  had  spoken  of  when  he 
would  be  able  to  go  back;  but  now  he  had  left  off 
doing  that,  for  he  saw  that  it  troubled  her. 

Yesterday  something  very  pleasant  had  happened, 
and  something  which,  to  Jervis  Blake  himself,  was 
quite  unexpected.  He  had  been  Mentioned  in  Des- 
patches, in  connection  with  a  little  affair,  as  he  de- 
scribed it,  which  had  happened  weeks  ago,  on  the 
Aisne!  One  of  the  other  two  men  concerned  in  it 
had  received  the  Victoria  Cross,  and  Rose  was  secretly 
rather  hurt,  as  was  also  Lady  Blake,  that  Jervis  had 

246 


Good  Old  Anna  247 

not  been  equally  honoured.  But  that  thought  did  not 
occur  to  either  his  father  or  himself. 

Just  now  Rose  was  enjoying  half  an  hour  of  pleas- 
ant solitude  with  her  lover,  after  what  had  been  a  try- 
ing morning  for  him.  Sir  Jacques  Robey  had  asked 
down  an  old  friend  of  his  own,  a  surgeon  too,  to  see 
Jervis,  and  they  had  spent  quite  a  long  time  pulling 
the  injured  foot  about. 

Sir  John  Blake  had  also  come  down  to  spend  the 
day  at  Witanbury.  He  had  been  able  to  get  away  for 
a  few  hours  from  his  work  at  the  War  Office  to  tell 
his  boy  how  very,  very  pleased  he  was  at  that  mention 
in  Sir  John  French's  Despatches.  Indeed,  all  the 
morning  telegraph  boys  had  been  bringing  to 
"Robey's"  the  congratulations  of  friends  and  even 
acquaintances. 

Jervis  was  very  tired  now — tired  because  the  two 
surgeons,  skilful  and  careful  though  they  were,  had 
not  been  able  to  help  hurting  him  quite  a  good  bit. 
It  was  fortunate  that  Rose  Otway,  dearly  as  she  loved 
him,  knew  little  or  nothing  of  pain.  She  had  been 
sent  away  during  that  hour,  right  out  of  the  house, 
to  take  a  walk  with  Mr.  Robey.  She  had  been  told 
quite  plainly  by  Sir  Jacques  that  they  would  rather 
she  were  not  there  while  the  examination  was  taking 
place.  It  was  important  that  the  house  should  be  kept 
as  far  as  possible  absolutely  quiet. 

Jervis  did  not  talk  very  much,  but  there  was  no 
need  for  him  to  do  so.  He  and  Rose  would  have 
plenty  of  time  to  say  everything  they  wanted  to  one 
another,  for  Sir  Jacques  had  told  her,  only  yesterday 
night,  that  a  very  long  time  must  go  by  before  Jervis 
would  be  fit  to  go  back.  "Any  injury  to  the  foot," 


248  Good  Old  Anna 

he  had  said  casually,  "is  bound  to  be  a  long  and  a 
ticklish  business."  The  words  had  given  her  a  rush 
of  joy  of  which  she  felt  ashamed. 

There  came  a  knock  at  the  door,  and  then  the 
younger  of  Jervis's  nurses  came  quietly  into  the  room. 
"They're  asking  for  you  downstairs,  Miss  Otway," 
she  said  quietly.  "And  I  think  that  perhaps  Mr. 
Blake  might  now  get  a  little  sleep.  He's  had  a  rather 
tiring,  exciting  morning,  you  know.  Perhaps  you 
could  come  up  and  have  tea  with  him  about  five 
o'clock?  He's  sure  to  be  awake  by  then." 

And  then  the  young  nurse  did  a  rather  odd  thing. 
Instead  of  going  on  into  the  room  and  up  to  the  bed- 
side, she  went  out  of  the  door  for  a  moment,  and 
Rose,  during  that  moment,  bent  down  and  laid  her 
soft  cheek  against  Jervis's  face.  "Good-bye,  my  dar- 
ling Jervis.  I  shan't  be  away  long."  And  then  she 
straightened  herself,  and  went  out  of  the  room. 

Of  course  she  was  happy — happy,  and  with  a  heart 
at  rest  as  it  had  not  been  for  months  and  months. 
But  still  it  would  be  a  great  comfort  when  Jervis  was 
up.  She  hated  to  see  him  lying  there,  helpless,  given 
over  to  ministrations  other  than  her  own. 

As  she  went  through  the  door,  the  nurse  stopped 
her  and  said,  "Would  you  go  into  Mr.  Robey's  study, 
Miss  Otway?  I  think  Sir  John  Blake  wants  to  see 
you  before  he  goes  back  to  town.  Mr.  Jenkinson  has 
already  gone;  he  had  to  be  there  for  a  consultation 
at  six." 

Rose  looked  at  her,  a  little  surprised.  It  was  as 
if  the  kind  little  nurse  was  speaking  for  the  sake  of 
speaking. 

She  went  down  the  quiet  house,  past  the  door  of 


Good  Old  Ann?.  249 

the  large  ward  where  the  four  other  wounded  officers 
now  lay,  all  going  on,  she  was  glad  to  know,  very  well, 
and  all  having  had  a  visit  from  Mr.  Jenkinson,  the 
London  specialist. 

She  hurried  on,  smiling  a  little  as  she  did  so.  She 
was  no  longer  afraid  of  Sir  John  Blake.  In  fact  she 
was  becoming  very  fond  of  him,  though  it  hurt  her 
always  to  hear  how  sharply  and  irritably  he  spoke  to 
his  gentle,  yielding  wife.  Of  course  Lady  Blake  was 
very  unreasonable  sometimes — but  she  was  so  helpless, 
so  clinging,  and  so  fond  of  Jervis. 

And  then,  as  she  turned  a  corner — for  "Robey's" 
consisted  of  three  houses,  through  each  of  which  an 
intercommunication  had  been  made — there  fell  on 
Rose  Otway's  ear  a  very  dreadful  sound,  that  of  some 
one  crying  in  wild,  unbridled  grief.  The  sound  came 
from  Mrs.  Robey's  little  sitting-room,  and  suddenly 
Rose  heard  her  own  mother's  voice  raised  in  expostu- 
lation. She  was  evidently  trying  to  comfort  and  calm 
the  poor  stranger — doubtless  the  mother  or  wife  of 
one  of  the  four  officers  upstairs.  Two  days  ago  one 
of  these  visitors  had  had  something  very  like  a  fit  of 
hysterics  after  seeing  her  wounded  husband.  Rose 
shrank  from  the  memory.  But  this  was  worse — far 
worse.  She  hurried  on  into  Mr.  Robey's  study. 

The  study,  which  was  a  very  agreeable  room,  over- 
looked the  Close.  It  was  panelled  with  dark  old  oak, 
and  lined  on  one  side  with  books,  and  opposite  the 
centre  window  hung  Mr.  Robey's  greatest  treasure,  a 
watercolour  by  Turner  of  Witanbury  Cathedral, 
painted  from  the  meadows  behind  the  town. 

To-day  Mr.  Robey  himself  was  not  there,  but  his 
brother  and  Sir  John  Blake  were  both  waiting  for  her. 


250  Good  Old  Anna 

Eagerly  she  walked  forward  into  the  room,  and  as 
she  did  so  she  made  a  delightful  picture — or  so  those 
two  men,  so  very  different  the  one  from  the  other, 
thought — of  youth,  of  happiness,  and  yes,  of  young 
love  satisfied. 

Sir  Jacques  took  a  step  forward.  The  General  did 
not  move  at  all.  He  was  standing  with  his  back  to 
the  further  window,  his  face  in  shadow. 

"Now,  Miss  Rose,  I  want  you  to  listen  very  care- 
fully to  me  for  a  few  minutes." 

She  looked  at  him  gravely.  "Yes?"  she  said  ques- 
tioningly. 

"I  have  asked  you  to  come,"  went  on  the  great 
surgeon,  "because  I  want  to  impress  upon  your  mind 
the  fact  that  how  you  behave  at  this  juncture  of  his 
life  may  make  a  very  great,  I  might  almost  say  all  the 
difference,  to  your  future  husband,  to  Mr.  Jervis 
Blake." 

Rose's  senses  started  up,  like  sentinels,  to  attention. 

"You  will  have  need  of  all  your  courage,  and  also 
of  all  your  good  sense,  to  help  him  along  a  very  rough 
bit  of  road,"  he  went  on  feelingly. 

Rose  felt  a  thrill  of  sudden,  unreasonable  terror. 
"What  is  it?"  she  exclaimed.  "What  is  going  to  hap- 
pen to  him?  Is  he  going  to  die?  I  don't  mind  what 
it  is,  if  only  you  will  tell  me!"  She  instinctively 
moved  over  to  Sir  John  Blake's  side,  and  he,  as  in- 
stinctively, put  his  arm  round  her  shoulder. 

"Mr.  Jenkinson  agrees  with  me,"  said  Sir  Jacques, 
slowly  and  deliberately,  "that  his  foot,  the  foot  that 
was  crushed,  will  have  to  come  off.  There  is  no  dan- 
ger— no  reasonable  danger,  that  is — of  the  operation 
costing  him  his  life."  He  waited  a  moment,  and  as 


Good  Old  Anna  251 

she  said  nothing,  he  went  on :  "But  though  there  is  no 
danger  of  his  losing  his  life,  there  is  a  very  great  dan- 
ger, Miss  Otway,  of  his  losing  what  to  such  a  man  as 
Jervis  Blake  counts,  I  think,  for  more  than  life — his 
courage.  By  that  of  course  I  do  not  mean  physical 
bravery,  but  that  courage,  or  strength  of  mind,  which 
enables  many  men  far  more  afflicted  than  he  will  ever 
be,  to  retain  their  normal  outlook  on  life."  Speaking 
more  to  himself,  he  added,  "I  have  formed  a  very 
good  opinion  of  this  young  man,  and  personally  I 
think  he  will  accept  this  great  misfortune  with  resig- 
nation and  fortitude.  But  one  can  never  tell,  and  it 
is  always  best  to  prepare  for  the  worst." 

And  then,  for  the  first  time,  Rose  spoke.  "I  under- 
stand what  you  mean,"  she  said  quietly.  "And  I  thank 
you  very  much,  Sir  Jacques,  for  having  spoken  to  me 
as  you  have  done." 

"And  now,"  he  said,  "one  word  more.  Sir  John 
Blake  does  not  know  what  I  am  going  to  say,  and 
perhaps  my  suggestion  will  not  meet  with  his  ap- 
proval. It  had  been  settled  during  the  last  few  days, 
had  it  not,  that  you  and  Jervis  were  to  be  married 
before  he  went  back  to  the  Front?  Well,  I  suggest 
that  you  be  married  now,  before  the  operation  takes 
place.  I  am  of  course  thinking  of  the  matter  solely 
from  his  point  of  view — and  from  my  point  of  view 
as  his  surgeon." 

Her  heartfelt  "Thank  you"  had  hardly  reached  his 
ear  before  Sir  John  Blake  spoke  with  a  kind  of  harsh 
directness. 

"I  don't  think  anything  of  the  sort  can  be  thought 
of  now.  In  fact  I  would  not  give  my  consent  to  an 
immediate  marriage.  I  feel  certain  that  my  son,  too, 


252  Good  Old  Anna 

would  refuse  to  take  advantage  of  his  position  to 
suggest  it." 

"I  think,"  said  Sir  Jacques  quietly,  "that  the  sug- 
gestion in  any  case  would  have  to  come  from  Miss 
Rose." 

And  then,  for  the  first  time,  Rose  lost  control  of 
herself.  She  became  agitated,  tearful — in  her  eager- 
ness she  put  her  hand  on  Sir  John's  breast,  and  looking 
piteously  up  into  his  face,  "Of  course  I  want  to  marry 
him  at  once!"  she  said  brokenly.  "Every  time  I  have 
had  to  leave  him  in  the  last  few  days  I  have  felt 
miserable.  You  see,  I  feel  married  to  him  already, 
and  if  you  feel  married,  it's  so  very  strange  not  to  be 
married." 

She  began  to  laugh  helplessly,  and  the  more,  shocked 
at  what  she  was  doing,  she  tried  to  stop,  the  more  she 
laughed. 

Sir  Jacques  came  quickly  forward.  "Come,  come !" 
he  said  sharply,  and  taking  her  by  the  arm  he  shook 

her  violently.  "This  won't  do  at  all "  he  gave  a 

warning  look  at  the  other  man.  "Of  course  Miss  Rose 
will  do  exactly  what  she  wishes  to  do!  She's  quite 
right  in  saying  that  she's  as  good  as  married  to  him 
already,  Sir  John.  And  it's  our  business — yours,  hers, 
and  mine — to  think  of  Jervis,  and  of  Jervis  only  just 
now.  But  she  won't  be  able  to  do  that  if  she  allows 
herself  to  be  upset!" 

"I'm  so  sorry — please  forgive  me!"  Rose,  to  her 
own  measureless  relief,  had  stopped  laughing,  but  she 
felt  oddly  faint  and  queer.  Sir  Jacques  poured  out  a 
very  small  wineglassful  of  brandy,  and  made  her  drink 
it.  How  odd  to  have  a  bottle  of  brandy  here,  in  Mr. 
Robey's  study !  Mr.  Robey  was  a  teetotaller. 


Good  Old  Anna  253 

"Would  you  like  me  to  go  up  to  Jervis  now?"  asked 
Sir  John  slowly. 

Sir  Jacques  looked  into  the  speaker's  face.  It  was 
generally  a  clear,  healthy  tan  colour ;  now  it  had  gone 
quite  grey.  "No,"  he  said.  "Not  now.  If  you  will 
forgive  me  for  making  a  suggestion,  I  should  advise 
that  you  and  Miss  Rose  take  Lady  Blake  out  some- 
where for  an  hour's  walk.  There's  nothing  like  open 
air  and  a  high  road  for  calming  the  nerves." 

"I  would  rather  not  see  my  wife  just  now,"  mut- 
tered Sir  John  frowning. 

But  Sir  Jacques  answered  sternly,  "I'm  afraid  I 
must  ask  you  to  do  so ;  and  once  you've  got  her  out  of 
doors  for  an  hour,  I'll  give  her  a  sleeping  draught. 
She'll  be  all  right  to-morrow  morning.  I  don't  want 
any  tears  round  my  patient." 

It  was  Rose  Otway  who  led  Sir  John  Blake  by  the 
hand  down  the  passage.  The  dreadful  sounds  coming 
from  Mrs.  Robey's  sitting-room  had  died  down  a  lit- 
tle, but  they  still  pierced  one  listener's  heart. 

"Do  be  kind  to  her,"  whispered  the  girl.  "Think 
what  she  must  be  going  through.  She  was  so  happy 
about  him  this  morning " 

"Yes,  yes!  You're  quite  right,"  he  said  hastily. 
"I've  been  a  brute — I  know  that.  I  promise  you  to 
do  my  best.  And  Rose?" 

"Yes,"  she  said. 

"What  that  man  said  is  right — quite  right.  What 
we've  got  to  do  now  is  to  start  the  boy  on  the  right 
way — nothing  else  matters." 

She  nodded. 

"You  and  I  can  do  it." 

"Yes,  I  know  we  can — and  will,"  said  Rose;  and 


254  Good  Old  Anna 

then  she  opened  the  door  of  Mrs.  Robey's  sitting-room. 

At  the  sight  of  her  husband,  Lady  Blake's  sobs  died 
down  in  long,  convulsive  sighs. 

"Come,  my  dear,"  he  said,  in  rather  cold,  measured 
tones.  "This  will  not  do.  You  must  try  for  our  boy's 
sake  to  pull  yourself  together.  After  all,  it  might 
have  been  much  worse.  He  might  have  been  killed." 

"I  would  much  rather  he  had  been  killed,"  she  ex- 
claimed vehemently.  "Oh,  John,  you  don't  know,  you 
don't  understand,  what  this  will  mean  to  him!" 

"Don't  I  ?"  he  asked.  He  set  his  teeth.  And  then, 
"You're  acting  very  wrongly!"  he  said  sternly. 
"We've  got  to  face  this  thing  out.  Remember  what 
Sir  Jacques  said  to  you."  He  waited  a  moment,  then, 
in  a  gentler,  kinder  tone,  "Rose  and  I  are  going  out 
for  a  walk,  and  we  want  you  to  come  too." 

"Oh,  I  don't  think  I  could  do  that."  She  spoke 
uncertainly,  and  yet  even  he  could  see  that  she  was 
startled,  surprised,  and  yes,  pleased. 

"Oh,  yes,  you  can!"  Rose  came  forward  with  the 
poor  lady's  hat  and  black  lace  cloak.  Very  gently, 
but  with  the  husband's  strong  arm  gripping  the  wife's 
rather  tightly,  they  between  them  led  her  out  of  the 
front  door  into  the  Close. 

"I  think,"  said  Sir  John  mildly,  "that  you  had  better 
run  back  and  get  your  hat,  Rose." 

She  left  them,  and  Sir  John  Blake,  letting  go  of 
his  wife's  arm  looked  down  into  her  poor  blurred  face 
for  a  moment.  "That  girl,"  he  said  hoarsely,  "sets  us 
both  an  example,  Janey." 

"That's  true,"  she  whispered.    "But  John?" 

"Yes." 


Good  Old  Anna  255 

"Don't  you  sometimes  feel  dreadfully  jealous  of 
her?" 

"I?  God  bless  my  soul,  no!"  But  a  very  sweet 
smile,  a  smile  she  had  not  seen  shed  on  her  for  many, 
many  years,  lit  up  his  face.  "We'll  have  to  think 
more  of  one  another,  and  less  of  the  boy — eh,  my 
dear?" 

Lady  Blake  was  too  surprised  to  speak — and  so,  for 
once  doing  the  wise  tring,  she  remained  silent. 

Rose,  hurrying  out  a  moment  later,  saw  that  the 
open  air  had  already  done  them  both  good. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

YOU'VE  got  to  make  him  believe  that  you  wish 
for  the  marriage  to  take  place  now,  for  your 
own  sake,  not  for  his." 

It  was  with  those  words,  uttered  by  Sir  Jacques 
Robey,  still  sounding  in  her  ears,  that  Rose  Otway 
walked  up  to  the  door  of  the  room  where  Jervis  Blake, 
having  just  seen  his  father,  was  now  waiting  to  see 
her. 

Sir  John  Blake's  brief  "He  has  taken  it  very  well. 
He  has  a  far  greater  sense  of  discipline  that  I  had  at 
his  age,"  had  been  belied,  discounted,  by  the  speaker's 
own  look  of  suffering  and  of  revolt. 

Rose  waited  outside  the  door  for  a  few  moments. 
She  was  torn  with  conflicting  fears  and  emotions.  A 
strange  feeling  of  oppression  and  shyness  had  come 
over  her.  It  had  seemed  so  easy  to  say  that  she  would 
be  married  at  once,  to-morrow,  to  Jervis.  But  she 
had  not  known  that  she  would  have  to  ask  Jervis's 
consent.  She  had  supposed,  foolishly,  that  it  would 
all  be  settled  for  her  by  Sir  Jacques.  .  .  . 

At  last  she  turned  the  handle  of  the  door,  and 
walked  through  into  the  room.  And  then,  to  her  un- 
utterable relief,  she  saw  that  Jervis  looked  exactly 
as  usual,  except  that  his  face,  instead  of  being  pale, 
as  it  had  been  the  last  few  days,  was  rather  flushed. 

Words  which  had  been  spoken  to  him  less  than  five 
minutes  ago  were  also  echoing  in  Jervis's  brain,  push- 
ing everything  else  into  the  background.  He  had  said, 

266 


Good  Old  Anna  257 

"I  suppose  you  think  that  I  ought  to  offer  to  release 
Rose?"  and  his  father  had  answered  slowly:  "All 
I  can  say  is  that  I  should  do  so — if  I  were  in  your 
place." 

But  now,  when  he  saw  her  coming  towards  him, 
looking  as  she  always  looked,  save  that  something  of 
the  light  and  brightness  which  had  always  been  in  her 
dear  face  had  faded  out  of  it,  he  knew  that  he  could 
say  nothing  of  the  sort.  This  great  trouble  which 
had  come  on  him  was  her  trouble  as  well  as  his,  and 
he  knew  she  was  going  to  take  it  and  to  bear  it,  as  he 
meant  to  take  it  and  to  bear  it. 

But  Jervis  Blake  did  make  up  his  mind  to  one  thing. 
There  should  be  no  hurrying  of  Rose  into  a  hasty 
marriage — the  kind  of  marriage  they  had  planned — 
the  marriage  which  was  to  have  taken  place  a  week 
before  he  went  back  to  the  Front.  It  must  be  his 
business  to  battle  through  this  grim  thing  alone.  It 
would  be  time  enough  to  think  of  marriage  when  he 
was  up  and  about  again,  and  when  he  had  taught  him- 
self, as  much  as  might  be  possible,  to  hide  or  triumph 
over  his  infirmity. 

As  she  came  and  sat  down  quietly  by  the  side  of  his 
bed,  on  the  chair  which  his  father  had  just  left,  he 
put  out  his  hand  and  took  hers. 

"I  want  to  tell  you,"  he  said  slowly  "that  what  my 
father  has  just  told  me  was  not  altogether  a  surprise. 
I've  felt  rather — well,  rather  afraid  of  it,  since  Sir 
Jacques  first  examined  me.  There  was  something  in 
the  nurses'  manner  too — but  of  course  I  knew  I  might 
be  wrong.  I'm  sorry  now  that  I  didn't  tell  you." 

She  still  said  nothing — only  gripped  his  hand  more 
and  more  tightly. 


258  Good  Old  Anna 

"And  Rose?  One  thing  father  said  is  being  such 
a  comfort  to  me.  Father  thinks  that  I  shall  still  be 
able  to  be  of  use — I  mean  in  the  way  I  should  like  to 
be,  especially  if  the  war  goes  on  a  long  time.  I  wonder 
if  he  showed  you  this?"  He  picked  up  off  his  bed  a 
little  piece  of  paper  and  held  it  out  to  her. 

Through  her  bitter  tears  she  read  the  words: 
"German  thoroughness" — and  then  a  paragraph  which 
explained  how  the  German  military  authorities  were 
using  their  disabled  officers  in  the  training  of  recruits. 

"Father  thinks  that  in  time  they'll  do  something 
of  the  sort  here — not  yet,  perhaps,  but  in  some  months 
from  now." 

And  then,  as  she  still  did  not  speak,  he  grew  uneasy. 
"Come  a  little  nearer,"  he  whispered.  "I  feel  as  if 
you  were  so  far  away.  We  needn't  be  afraid  of  any 
one  coming  in.  Father  has  promised  that  no  one  shall 
disturb  us  till  you  ring." 

She  did  as  he  asked,  and  putting  his  uninjured  arm 
right  round  her,  he  held  her  closely  to  him. 

It  was  the  first  time  since  that  strange  home-coming 
of  his  that  Jervis  had  felt  secure  against  the  sudden 
irruption  into  the  room  of  some  well-meaning  per- 
son. Of  the  two  it  was  Jervis  who  had  been  silently 
determined  to  give  the  talkative,  sentimental  nurses  no 
excuse  for  even  the  mildest,  the  kindliest  comment. 

But  now  everything  was  merged  in  this  great  or- 
deal of  love  and  grief  they  were  battling  through  to- 
gether— secure  from  the  unwanted  presence  of  others 
as  they  had  not  been  since  he  had  last  felt  her  heart 
fluttering  beneath  his,  in  the  porch  of  the  cathedral. 

"Oh,  Rose,"  he  whispered  at  last,  "you  don't  know 


Good  Old  Anna  259 

what  a  difference  having  you  makes  to  me!  If  it 
wasn't  for  you,  I  don't  know  how  I  could  face  it.'" 

For  a  moment  she  clung  a  little  closer  to  him.  He 
felt  her  trembling  with  a  wave  of  emotion  to  which 
he  had  no  present  clue.  "Oh,  Jervis — dear  Jervis, 
is  that  true?"  she  asked  piteously. 

"Do  you  doubt  it?"  he  whispered. 

"Then  there's  something  I  want  you  to  do  for  me." 

"You  know  that  there  isn't  anything  in  the  world 
you  could  ask  me  to  do  that  I  wouldn't  do,  Rose." 

"I  want  you  to  marry  me  to-morrow,"  she  said. 
And  then,  as  for  a  moment  he  remained  silent,  she 
began  to  cry.  "Oh,  Jervis,  do  say  yes — unless  you 
very,  very  much  want  to  say  no !" 

During  the  next  forty-eight  hours  Sir  Jacques 
Robey  settled  what  was  to  be  done,  when  it  should  be 
done,  and  how  it  was  to  be  done. 

Of  the  people  concerned,  it  was  perhaps  Lady  Blake 
who  seemed  the  most  under  his  influence.  She  sub- 
mitted without  a  word  to  his  accompanying  her  into 
her  son's  bedroom,  and  it  was  in  response  to  his  in- 
sistent command — for  it  was  no  less — that  instead 
of  alluding  to  the  tragic  thing  which  filled  all  her 
thoughts,  she  only  spoke  of  the  morrow's  wedding, 
and  of  her  happiness  in  the  daughter  her  son  was 
giving  her. 

It  was  Sir  Jacques,  too,  who  persuaded  Mrs.  Otway 
to  agree  that  an  immediate  marriage  was  the  best  of 
all  possible  solutions  for  Rose  as  well  as  for  Jervis; 
and  it  was  he,  also,  who  suggested  that  Sir  John 
Blake  should  go  over  to  the  Deanery  and  make  all 
the  necessary  arrangements  with  Dr.  Haworth. 


260  Good  Old  Anna 

But  perhaps  the  most  striking  example  of  Sir 
Jacques's  good  sense  and  thoroughness  occurred  after 
Sir  John  had  been  to  the  Deanery. 

Dr.  Haworth  had  fallen  in  with  every  suggestion 
with  the  most  eager,  ready  sympathy;  and  Sir  John, 
who  before  coming  to  Witanbury  had  regarded  him 
as  a  pacifist  and  pro-German,  had  come  really  to  like 
and  respect  him.  So  it  was  that  now,  as  he  came  back 
from  the  Deanery,  and  up  to  the  gate  of  the  Trellis 
House,  he  was  in  a  softer,  more  yielding  mood  than 
usual. 

Sir  Jacques  hurried  out  to  meet  him.  "Is  every- 
thing all  right?" 

"Yes — everything's  settled.  But  it's  your  responsi- 
bility, not  mine !" 

"I've  been  wondering,  Sir  John,  whether  the  Dean 
reminded  you  that  we  shall  require  a  wedding  ring?" 

"No,  he  did  not."  Sir  John  Blake  looked  rather 
taken  aback.  "I  wonder  what  I'd  better  do?"  he  mut- 
tered helplessly. 

"You  and  Lady  Blake  had  better  go  into  the  town 
and  buy  one,"  said  Sir  Jacques.  "I  don't  feel  that 
we  can  put  that  job  on  poor  little  Rose.  She's  had 
quite  enough  to  do  as  it  is — and  gallantly  she's  done 
it!" 

And  as  Sir  John  began  to  look  cross  and  undecided, 
the  other  said  with  a  touch  of  sharpness,  "Of  course 
if  you'd  rather  not  do  it,  I'll  buy  the  ring  myself. 
But  I've  been  neglecting  my  work  this  morning." 

Ashamed  of  his  ungraciousness,  as  the  other  had 
meant  him  to  be,  Sir  John  said  hastily,  "Of  course 
I'll  get  it!  I  was  only  wondering  whether  I  hadn't 
better  go  alone." 


Good  Old  Anna  261 

"Lady  Blake  would  be  of  great  use  in  choosing  it, 
and  for  the  matter  of  that,  in  trying  it  on.  If  you 
wait  here  a  moment  I'll  go  and  fetch  her.  She's  got 
her  hat  on,  I  know." 

So  it  happened  that,  in  three  or  four  minutes,  just 
long  enough  for  Sir  John  to  begin  to  feel  impatient, 
Jervis's  mother  came  out  of  the  Trellis  House.  She 
was  smiling  up  into  the  great  surgeon's  face,  and  her 
husband  told  himself  that  it  was  an  extraordinary 
thing  how  this  wedding  had  turned  their  minds — all 
their  minds — away  from  Jervis's  coming  ordeal. 

"I  wonder  if  Rose  would  like  a  broad  or  narrow 
wedding  ring?"  said  Lady  Blake  thoughtfully.  "I'm 
afraid  there  won't  be  very  much  choice  in  a  place  like 
Witanbury." 

Sir  Jacques  looked  after  the  couple  for  a  few  mo- 
ments, then  he  turned  and  went  into  the  Trellis  House, 
and  so  into  the  drawing-room. 

"Bachelors,"  he  said  meditatively,  "sometimes  have 
a  way  of  playing  the  very  mischief  between  married 
couples — eh,  Mrs.  Otway  ?  So  it's  only  fair  that  now 
and  again  a  bachelor  should  do  something  towards 
bringing  a  couple  together  again." 

She  looked  at  him,  surprised.  What  odd — and  yes, 
rather  improper  things — Sir  Jacques  sometimes  said! 
But — but  he  was  a  very  kind  man.  Mrs.  Otway  was 
a  simple  woman,  though  she  would  have  felt  a  good 
deal  nettled  had  anyone  told  her  so. 

"I  rather  wonder,"  she  said  impulsively,  "why  you 
never  married.  You  seem  to  approve  of  marriage, 
Sir  Jacques?"  She  was  looking  into  his  face  with 
an  eager,  kindly  look. 

"If  you  look  at  me  long  enough,"  he  said  slowly, 


262  Good  Old  Anna 

"I  think  you'll  be  able  to  answer  that  question  for 
yourself.  The  women  I  wanted — there  were  three  of 

them <"  and  then,  as  he  saw  that  she  again  looked 

slightly  shocked,  he  added,  "Not  altogether,  but  con- 
secutively, you  understand — well,  not  one  of  them 
would  have  me !  The  women  who  might  have  put  up 
with  me — well,  I  didn't  seem  to  want  them!  But  I 
should  like  to  say  one  thing  to  you,  Mrs.  Otway. 
This  particular  affair  in  which  you  and  I  are  interested 
does  seem  to  me,  if  you'll  allow  me  to  say  so,  'a  mar- 
riage of  true  minds '  He  stopped  abruptly,  and 

to  her  great  surprise  left  the  room  without  finishing 
his  sentence. 

Such  trifling,  and  at  the  time  such  seemingly  un- 
important, little  happenings  are  often  those  which 
long  afterwards  leap  out  from  the  past,  bringing  with 
them  poignant  memories  of  joy,  of  sorrow,  of  pain, 
and  of  happiness. 

Rose  Blake  will  always  remember  that  it  was  her 
poor  old  German  nurse,  Anna  Bauer,  who,  on  her 
wedding  day,  made  her  wear  a  white  dress  and  a  veil. 
She  had  meant  to  be  married,  in  so  far  as  she  had 
given  any  thought  to  the  matter  at  all,  in  her  ordinary 
blue  serge  skirt  and  a  clean  blouse. 

Those  about  her  might  be  able  to  forget,  for  a  few 
merciful  hours,  what  lay  before  Jervis;  but  she,  Rose 
Otway,  could  not  forget  it.  She  knew  that  she  was 
marrying  him  now,  not  in  order  that  she  might  be 
even  closer  to  him  than  she  felt  herself  to  be — that 
seemed  to  her  impossible — but  in  order  that  others 
might  think  so.  She  would  have  preferred  the  cere- 
mony to  take  place  only  in  the  presence  of  his  parents 


Good  Old  Anna  263 

and  of  her  mother.  But  as  to  that  she  had  been  given 
no  say;  Sir  Jacques  and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Robey  had 
announced  as  a  matter  of  course  that  they  would  be 
present,  and  so  she  had  assented  to  her  mother's  sug- 
gestion that  Miss  Forsyth  should  be  asked.  If  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Robey  and  Sir  Jacques  were  to  be  there, 
then  she  did  not  mind  Miss  Forsyth,  her  kind  old 
friend,  being  there  too. 

Anna  had  protested  with  tearful  vehemence  against 
the  blue  serge  skirt  and  the  pretty  blouse — nay,  more, 
she  had  already  taken  the  white  gown  she  intended 
that  her  beloved  nursling  should  wear,  out  of  the  bag 
which  she,  Anna,  had  made  for  it  last  year.  It  was 
a  very  charming  frock,  a  fine  exquisitely  embroidered 
India  muslin,  the  only  really  beautiful  day-dress  Rose 
had  ever  had  in  her  young  life.  And  oddly  enough 
it  had  been  a  present  from  Miss  Forsyth. 

Miss  Forsyth — it  was  nearly  eighteen  months  ago 
— had  invited  Rose  to  come  up  to  London  with  her 
for  a  day's  shopping,  and  then  she  had  suddenly  pre- 
sented her  young  friend  with  this  attractive,  and  yes, 
expensive  gown.  There  had  been  a  blue  sash,  but 
this  had  now  been  taken  off  by  Anna,  and  a  bluey- 
white  satin  band  substituted.  As  to  that  Rose  now 
rebelled.  "If  I  am  to  wear  this  dress  to-day,  I  should 
like  the  blue  sash  put  back,"  she  said  quickly.  "Blue 
is  supposed  to  bring  luck  to  brides,  Anna." 

What  had  really  turned  the  scale  in  Rose's  mind 
had  been  Anna's  tears,  and  the  fact  that  Miss  Forsyth 
would  be  pleased  to  see  her  married  in  that  gown. 

But  over  the  lace  veil  there  had  been  something  like 
a  tug  of  war.  And  this  time  it  was  Mrs.  Otway  who 
had  won  the  day.  "If  you  wear  that  muslin  dress, 


264  Good  Old  Anna 

then  I  cannot  see  why  you  should  not  wear  your 
grandmother's  wedding  veil,"  she  had  exclaimed — and 
again  Rose  had  given  in. 

Poor  old  Anna !  It  was  a  day  of  days  for  her — far 
more  a  day  of  days  than  had  been  the  marriage  of 
her  own  daughter.  Yet  Louisa  Bauer's  wedding  had 
been  a  great  festival.  And  the  old  woman  remem- 
bered what  pains  Mrs.  Otway  had  taken  to  make  that 
marriage  of  five  years  ago,  as  far  as  was  possible  in 
such  a  very  English  place  as  Witanbury,  a  German 
bridal.  In  those  days  they  had  none  of  them  guessed 
what  an  unsatisfactory  fellow  George  Pollit  was  going 
to  turn  out;  and  Louisa  had  gone  to  her  new  home 
with  quite  a  German  trousseau — that  is,  with  what 
would  have  appeared  to  English  eyes  stacks  of  under- 
clothing, each  article  beautifully  embroidered  with  a 
monogram  and  lavishly  trimmed  with  fine  crochet; 
each  set  tied  up  with  a  washing  band  or  Wasche- 
bander,  a  strip  of  canvas  elaborately  embroidered  in 
cross-stitch. 

It  seemed  strangely  sad  and  unnatural  that  Anna's 
gracious  young  lady  should  have  no  trousseau  at  all! 
But  that  doubtless  would  come  afterwards,  and  she, 
Anna,  felt  sure  that  she  would  be  allowed  to  have 
a  hand  in  choosing  it.  This  thought  was  full  of  con- 
solation, as  was  also  her  secret  supposition  that  the 
future  trousseau  would  be  paid  for  by  the  bridegroom. 

There  was  certainly  cause  for  satisfaction  in  that 
thought,  for  Anna  had  become  conscious  of  late  that 
her  dear  mistress  felt  anxious  about  money.  Prices 
were  going  up,  but  thanks  to  her,  Anna's,  zealous 
care,  the  housekeeping  bills  at  the  Trellis  House  were 
still  kept  wonderfully  low.  It  was  unfortunate  that 


Good  Old  Anna  265 

Mrs.  Otway,  being  the  kind  of  gracious  lady  she  was, 
scarcely  gave  Anna  sufficient  credit  for  this.  It  was 
not  that  she  was  ungrateful,  it  was  simply  that  she 
did  not  think  anything  about  it — she  only  remem- 
bered that  she  was  short  of  money  when  the  house- 
hold books  were  there,  open  in  front  of  her. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

AND  now  the  small  group  of  men  and  women  who 
were  to  be  present  at  the  marriage  of  Rose 
Otway  and  Jervis  Blake  were  gathered  together  in 
Mrs.  Robey's  large  drawing-room.  Seven  people  in 
all,  for  the  Dean  had  not  yet  arrived. 

In  addition  to  the  master  and  mistress  of  the  hos- 
pitable house  in  which  they  now  all  found  themselves, 
there  were  there  Sir  John  and  Lady  Blake;  Miss  For- 
syth — who,  alone  of  the  company,  had  dressed  herself 
with  a  certain  old-fashioned  magnificence;  Sir  Jacques, 
who  had  just  come  into  the  room  after  taking  Rose 
and  her  mother  up  to  Jervis's  room ;  and  lastly  good 
old  Anna  Bauer,  who  sat  a  little  apart  by  herself, 
staring  with  a  strange,  rather  wild  look  at  the  group 
of  people  standing  before  her. 

To  Anna's  excited  mind,  they  did  not  look  like  a 
wedding  party;  they  looked,  with  the  exception  of 
Miss  Forsyth,  who  wore  a  light  grey  silk  dress 
trimmed  with  white  lace,  like  people  waiting  to  start 
for  a  funeral. 

No  one  spoke,  with  the  exception  of  Lady  Blake, 
who  occasionally  addressed  a  nervous  question,  in  an 
undertone,  to  Mrs.  Robey. 

At  last  there  came  the  sound  of  the  front  door 
opening  and  shutting.  Mr.  Robey  went  out,  rather 
hurriedly,  and  his  wife  exclaimed,  "I  think  that  must 
be  the  Dean.  My  husband  is  taking  him  up-stairs 

"  And  then  she  waited  a  moment,  and  glanced 

266 


Good  Old  Anna  267 

anxiously  at  her  brother-in-law,  Sir  Jacques.  It  was 
strange  how  even  she,  who  had  never  particularly 
liked  Sir  Jacques,  looked  to  him  for  guidance  to-day. 

In  answer  to  that  look  he  moved  forward  a  little, 
and  made  a  queer  little  sound,  as  if  clearing  his  throat. 
Then,  very  deliberately,  he  addressed  the  people  before 
him. 

"Before  we  go  upstairs,"  he  began,  "I  want  to 
say  something  to  you  all.  I  cannot  help  noticing  that 
you  all  look  very  sad.  Now  of  course  I  don't  ask 
you  to  try  and  look  gay  during  the  coming  half-hour, 
but  I  do  earnestly  beg  of  you  to  try  and  feel  happy. 
Above  all — •"  and  he  looked  directly  at  Lady  Blake 
as  he  spoke — "above  all,"  he  repeated,  "I  must  beg  of 
you  very  earnestly  indeed  to  allow  yourselves  no  show 
of  emotion.  We  not  only  hope,  but  we  confidently 
expect,  that  our  young  friends  are  beginning  to-day 

what  will  be  an  exceptionally  happy,  and — and 

he  waited  for  a  moment,  then  apparently  found  the 
word  he  wanted — "an  exceptionally  harmonious  mar- 
ried life.  I  base  that  view  of  what  we  all  believe,  not 
on  any  exaggerated  notion  of  what  life  generally 
brings  to  the  average  married  couple,  but  on  the 
knowledge  we  possess  of  both  these  young  people's 
characters.  Nothing  can  take  away  from  Jervis  Blake 
his  splendid  past,  and  we  may  reasonably  believe  that 
he  is  going  to  have  with  this  sweet,  brave  young 
woman,  who  loves  him  so  well,  a  contented  future." 

Again  Sir  Jacques  paused,  and  then  not  less  ear- 
nestly he  continued :  "I  want  Jervis  Blake  to  look  back 
on  to-day  as  on  a  happy  and  hallowed  day.  If  anyone 
here  feels  that  they  will  not  be  able  to  command  them- 


268  Good  Old  Anna 

selves,  then  I  beg  him  or  her  most  strongly  to  stay 
away." 

He  turned  and  opened  the  door  behind  him,  and 
as  he  did  so,  his  sister-in-law  heard  him  mutter  to 
himself :  "Of  course  at  the  great  majority  of  weddings 
if  the  people  present  knew  what  was  going  to  come 
afterwards,  they  would  do  nothing  but  cry.  But  this 
is  not  that  sort  of  wedding,  thank  God !" 

Sir  Jacques  and  old  Anna  came  last  up  the  stair- 
case leading  to  Jervis  Blake's  room.  He  and  the  old 
German  woman  were  on  very  friendly  terms.  Before 
the  War  Sir  Jacques  had  been  in  constant  corre- 
spondence with  two  eminent  German  surgeons,  and 
as  a  young  man  he  had  spent  a  year  of  study  in 
Vienna.  He  now  addressed  a  few  cheerful,  hearten- 
ing remarks  in  German  to  Rose's  old  nurse,  winding 
up  rather  peremptorily  with  the  words:  "There  must 
be  no  tears.  There  is  here  only  matter  for  rejoicing." 
And  Anna,  in  a  submissive  whisper,  had  answered, 
"Ja!  Ja!" 

And  then,  as  she  walked  last  into  the  room,  Anna 
uttered  a  guttural  expression  of  delighted  surprise, 
for  it  was  as  if  every  hothouse  flower  in  Witanbury 
had  been  gathered  to  do  honour  to  the  white-clad, 
veiled  figure  who  now  stood,  with  downcast  eyes,  by 
the  bridegroom's  bedside. 

The  flowers  were  Mr.  Robey's  gift.  He  had  gone 
out  quite  early  that  morning  and  had  pressed  all 
those  of  his  acqaintances  who  had  greenhouses,  as 
well  as  the  flower  shops  in  Witanbury,  under  contri- 
bution ;  and  the  delicate,  bright  colouring  with  which 
the  room  was  now  filled  gave  a  festive,  welcoming 
air  to  this  bridal  chamber. 


Good  Old  Anna  269 

Rose  looked  up,  and  as  her  eyes  met  the  loving, 
agitated  glance  of  her  nurse,  she  felt  a  sudden  thrill 
of  warm  gratitude  to  good  old  Anna,  for  Jervis  had 
whispered,  "How  lovely  you  look,  darling!  Some- 
how I  thought  you  would  wear  an  everyday  dress — 
but  this  is  much,  much  nicer!" 

Those  present  followed  the  order  of  the  marriage 
service  with  very  varying  emotions,  and  never  had 
the  Dean  delivered  the  familiar,  awesome  words  with 
more  feeling  and  more  grace  of  diction. 

But  the  only  two  people  in  that  room  whose  breasts 
were  stirred  to  really  happy  memories  were  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Robey.  They,  standing  together  a  little  in  the 
background,  almost  unconsciously  clasped  each  other's 
hands. 

Across  the  mind  of  Sir  John  Blake  there  flashed  a 
vivid  memory  of  his  own  wedding  day.  The  marriage 
had  been  celebrated  in  the  cantonment  church  of  an 
up-country  station,  where,  after  a  long,  wearying  en- 
gagement, and  a  good  deal  of  what  he  had  even  then 
called  "shilly-shallying,"  his  betrothed  had  come  out 
from  England  to  marry  him.  He  remembered,  in  a 
queer  jumble  of  retrospective  gratitude  and  impa- 
tience, how  certain  of  the  wives  of  his  brother  officers 
had  decorated  the  little  plain  church ;  and  the  mingled 
scents  of  the  flowers  now  massed  about  him  recalled 
that  of  the  orange  blossoms  and  the  tuberoses  at  his 
own  wedding. 

But  real  as  that  long-vanished  scene  still  was  to 
Jervis's  father,  what  he  now  remembered  best  of  all 
the  emotions  which  had  filled  his  heart  as  he  had  stood 
waiting  at  the  chancel  steps  for  his  pretty,  nervous 


270  Good  Old  Anna 

bride  were  the  good  resolutions  he  had  made — made 
and  so  soon  broken.  .  .  . 

As  for  Sir  Jacques,  he  had  never  been  to  a  wedding 
since  he  had  been  last  forced  to  do  so  as  a  boy  by 
his  determined  mother.  The  refusal  of  all  marriage 
invitations  was  an  eccentricity  which  friends  and  pa- 
tients easily  pardoned  to  the  successful  and  popular 
surgeon,  and  so  the  present  ceremony  had  the  curious 
interest  of  complete  novelty.  He  had  meant  to  read 
over  the  service  to  see  what  part  he  himself  had  to 
play,  but  the  morning  had  slipped  away  and  he  had 
not  had  time. 

Jervis,  in  answer  to  perhaps  the  most  solemn  and 
awful  question  ever  put  to  man,  had  just  answered 
fervently  "I  will,"  and  Rose's  response  had  also  been 
uttered  very  clearly,  when  suddenly  someone  gave 
Sir  Jacques  a  little  prod,  and  the  Dean,  with  the  words, 
"Who  giveth  this  woman  to  be  married  to  this  man?" 
made  him  a  quiet  sign. 

Sir  Jacques  came  forward,  and  in  answer,  said  "1 
do,"  in  a  loud  tone.  And  then  he  saw  the  Dean  take 
Jervis's  right  hand  and  place  it  in  Rose's  left,  and  ut- 
ter the  solemn  words  with  which  even  he  was  ac- 
quainted. 

"I,  Jervis,  take  thee,  Rose,  to  be  my  wedded  wife, 
to  have  and  to  hold  from  this  day  forward,  for  better 
for  worse,  for  richer  for  poorer,  in  sickness  and  in 
health,  to  love  and  to  cherish,  till  death  us  do  part, 
according  to  God's  holy  ordinance ;  and  thereto  I  plight 
thee  my  troth." 

A  series  of  tremendous  promises  to  make  and  to 
keep!  But  for  the  moment  cynicism  had  fallen  away 
from  Sir  Jacques's  heart,  and  somehow  he  felt  sure 


Good  Old  Anna  271 

that,  at  any  rate  in  this  case,  those  tremendous  prom- 
ises would  be  kept. 

He  had  been  afraid  that  the  Dean  would  make  an 
address,  or  at  the  least  would  say  a  few  words  that 
would  reduce  some  of  the  tiny  congregation  to  tears. 
But  Dr.  Haworth  was  too  wise  for  that,  and  perhaps 
he  knew  that  nothing  he  could  say  could  improve  on 
the  Beati  omnes. 

And  it  was  then,  towards  the  close  of  that  wedding 
ceremony,  that  Sir  Jacques  suddenly  made  up  his 
mind  what  should  be  the  words  graven  inside  what  he 
intended  should  be  his  wedding  gift  to  Rose  Blake — 
that  gift  was  a  fine  old-fashioned  ruby  ring,  the  only 
one  of  his  mother's  jewels  he  possessed,  and  the  words 
he  then  chose  in  his  own  mind  were  those  of  the 
Psalmist,  "O  well  is  thee,  and  happy  shalt  thou  be." 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

DEAR  MRS.  OTWAY, 
"I  am  so  very  glad  to  be  able  to  send  you 
the  enclosed.  Of  course  I  have  not  read  it.  In  fact  I 
do  not  know  German.  But  I  gather  that  it  contains 
news  of  Major  Guthrie,  and  that  it  is  written  with  a 
kindly  intention.  It  was  probably  intended  to  arrive 
for  Christmas. 

"Yours  very  truly, 

"ANNABEL  GAUNT. 

"P.S. — Any  letters  you  write  in  answer  must  be 
left  open." 

The  envelope  enclosed  by  Mrs.  Gaunt,  which  bore 
the  Censor's  stamp,  had  come  from  Switzerland,  and 
had  been  forwarded  by  favour  of  the  Geneva  Red 
Cross. 

With  an  indescribable  feeling  of  suspense,  of  long- 
ing, and  of  relief,  Mrs.  Otway  drew  out  the  sheet  of 
paper.  It  was  closely  covered  with  the  cramped  Ger- 
man characters  with  which  she  was,  of  course,  famil- 
iar. 

"MlNDEN, 

"15  December,  1914. 
"DEAR  MADAM, 

"As  Medical  Superintendent  of  the  Field  Lazarette 
at  Minden,  I  write  on  behalf  of  a  British  prisoner  of 

272 


Good  Old  Anna  273 

war,  Major  Guthrie,  who  has  now  been  under  my 
care  for  fourteen  weeks. 

"I  wish  to  assure  you  that  he  has  had  the  very 
highest  medical  skill  bestowed  on  him  since  he  came 
here.  Owing  to  the  exceptional  exigencies  and  strain 
put  on  our  Medical  Service  at  the  Front,  he  did  not 
perhaps  obtain  the  care  to  which  he  was  entitled  by 
our  merciful  and  humane  usages  of  war,  as  soon  as 
would  have  been  well.  He  received  a  most  serious 
wound  in  the  shoulder.  That  wound,  I  am  pleased 
to  tell  you,  is  in  as  good  a  state  as  possible,  and  will 
leave  no  ill-effects. 

"But  I  regret  to  tell  you,  Madam,  that  Major 
Guthrie  has  lost  his  eyesight.  He  bears  this  mis- 
fortune with  remarkable  fortitude.  As  a  young  man 
I  myself  spent  a  happy  year  in  Edinburgh,  and  so  we 
have  agreeable  subjects  of  conversation.  He  tells 
me  you  are  quite  familiar  with  my  language,  or  I 
should  of  course  have  written  to  you  in  English. 
"Believe  me,  Madam, 

"To  remain  with  the  utmost  respect, 
"Yours  faithfully, 

"KARL  BRECHT." 

Underneath  the  signature  of  the  doctor  was  written 
in  hesitating,  strange  characters  the  words  in  English, 
"God  bless  you. — ALEXANDER  GUTHRIE." 

And  then,  under  these  five  words,  came  another 
sentence  in  German: 

"I  may  tell  you  for  your  consolation  that  it  is 
extremely  probable  that  Major  Guthrie  will  be  ex- 
changed in  the  course  of  the  next  few  weeks.  But  I 
have  said  nothing  of  that  to  him,  for  it  will  depend 


274  Good  Old  Anna 

on  the  good-will  of  the  British  Government,  and  it  is 
a  good-will  which  we  Germans  have  now  learnt  to 
distrust." 

She  read  the  letter  through  again.  There  came 
over  her  a  feeling  of  agony  such  as  she  never  imag- 
ined any  human  being  could  suffer. 

During  the  past  weeks  of  suspense,  she  had  faced 
in  her  own  mind  many  awful  possibilities,  but  of  this 
possibility  she  had  not  thought. 

Now  she  remembered,  with  piteous  vividness,  the 
straight,  kindly  gaze  in  his  bright  blue  eyes — eyes 
which  had  had  a  pleasant  play  of  humour  in  them. 
Sight  does  not  mean  the  same  to  all  men,  but  she 
knew  that  it  meant  a  very  great  deal  to  the  man  she 
loved.  He  had  always  been  an  out-door  man,  a  man 
who  cared  for  everything  that  concerned  open-air 
life — for  birds,  for  trees,  for  flowers,  for  shooting, 
fishing,  and  gardening. 

Ever  since  she  had  known  that  Major  Guthrie  was 
alive  and  wounded,  a  prisoner  in  Germany,  she  had 
allowed  her  thoughts  to  dwell  on  the  letters  she  would 
write  to  him  when  she  received  his  address.  She  had 
composed  so  many  letters  in  her  mind — alternative 
letters — letters  which  should  somehow  make  clear  to 
him  all  that  was  in  her  heart,  while  yet  concealing  it 
first  from  the  British  Censors  and  then  from  his 
German  jailers. 

But  now  she  did  not  give  these  Censors  and  jailers 
a  thought.  She  sat  down  and  wrote  quite  simply  and 
easily  the  words  which  welled  up  out  of  her  heart : 

"Mv  DEAREST, 

"To-day  is  New  Year's  Day,  and  I  have  had  the 


Good  Old  Anna  275 

great  joy  of  receiving  news  of  you.  Also  your  bless- 
ing, which  has  already  done  me  good.  I  wish  you  to 
get  this  letter  quickly,  so  I  will  not  make  it  long. 

"I  am  forbidden  to  give  you  any  news,  so  I  will 
only  say  that  Rose  and  I  are  well.  That  I  love  you 
and  think  of  you  all  the  time,  and  look  forward  to 
being  always  with  you  in  God's  good  time." 

She  hesitated  a  moment  as  to  how  she  would  sign 
herself,  and  then  she  wrote : 

"Your  own 

"MARY." 

She  looked  over  the  letter,  wondering  if  she  could 
say  any  more,  and  then  a  sudden  inspiration  came 
to  her.  She  added  a  postscript: 

"I  am  spending  the  money  you  left  with  me.  It  is 
a  great  comfort." 

This  was  not  strictly  true,  but  she  made  up  her 
mind  that  it  should  become  true  before  the  day  was 
out. 

Far  longer  did  she  take  over  her  letter  to  the  Ger- 
man doctor — indeed,  she  made  three  drafts  of  it, 
being  so  pitifully  anxious  to  say  just  the  right  thing, 
neither  too  much  nor  too  little,  which  might  favour- 
ably incline  him  to  his  prisoner  patient. 

All  the  time  she  was  writing  this  second  letter  she 
felt  as  if  the  Censors  were  standing  by  her,  frowning, 
picking  out  a  sentence  here,  a  sentence  there.  She 
would  have  liked  to  say  something  of  the  time  she 
had  spent  at  Weimar,  but  she  dared  not  do  so;  per- 


276  Good  Old  Anna 

haps  if  she  said  anything  of  the  kind  her  letter  might 
not  get  through. 

There  was  nothing  Mrs.  Otway  desired  to  say  which 
the  sternest  Censor  could  have  found  fault  with  in 
either  country,  but  the  poor  soul  did  not  know  that. 
Still,  even  so,  she  wrote  a  very  charming  letter  of 
gratitude — so  charming,  indeed,  and  so  admirably  ex- 
pressed, that  when  the  Medical  Superintendent  at  last 
received  it,  he  said  to  himself,  "The  gracious  lady 
writer  of  this  letter  must  be  partly  German.  No  En- 
glishwoman could  have  written  like  this !" 

There  was  one  more  letter  to  write,  but  Mrs.  Otway 
found  no  difficulty  in  expressing  in  few  sentences  her 
warm  gratitude  to  her  new  friend  at  Arlington  Street. 

She  put  the  three  letters  in  a  large  envelope — the 
one  for  the  German  hospital  carefully  addressed  ac- 
cording to  the  direction  at  the  top  of  the  Medical 
Superintendent's  letter,  but  open  as  she  had  been  told 
to  leave  it.  On  chance,  for  she  was  quite  ignorant 
whether  the  postage  should  be  prepaid,  she  put  a 
twopenny-halfpenny  stamp  on  the  letter,  and  then, 
having  done  that,  fastened  down  the  big  envelope  and 
addressed  it  to  Mrs.  Gaunt,  at  20,  Arlington  Street. 

Then  she  took  another  envelope  out  of  her  drawer 
— that  containing  Major  Guthrie's  bank-notes.  There, 
in  with  them,  was  still  the  postcard  he  had  written 
to  her  from  France,  immediately  after  the  landing  of 
the  Expeditionary  Force.  She  looked  at  the  clearly- 
written  French  sentence — the  sentence  in  which  the 
writer  maybe  had  tried  to  convey  something  of  his 
yearning  for  her.  Taking  the  india-rubber  band  off 
the  notes,  she  put  one  into  her  purse.  She  was  very 
sorry  now  that  she  hadn't  done  as  he  had  asked  her — 


Good  Old  Anna  277 

spent  this  money  when,  as  had  happened  more  than 
once  during  the  last  few  weeks,  she  had  been  disagree- 
ably short. 

And  then  she  went  out,  walking  very  quietly 
through  the  hall.  She  did  not  feel  as  if  she  wanted 
old  Anna  to  know  that  she  had  heard  from  Germany. 
It  would  be  hard  enough  to  have  to  tell  Rose  the 
dreadful  thing  which,  bringing  such  anguish  to  her- 
self, could  only  give  the  girl,  absorbed  in  her  own 
painful  ordeal,  a  passing  pang  of  sympathy  and  regret. 

Poor  old  Anna !  Mrs.  Otway  was  well  aware  that 
as  the  days  went  on  Anna  became  less  and  less  pleas- 
ant to  live  with. 

Not  for  the  first  time  of  late,  she  wondered  un- 
easily if  Miss  Forsyth  had  been  right,  on  that  August 
day  which  now  seemed  so  very  long  ago.  Would 
it  not  have  been  better,  even  from  Anna's  point  of 
view,  to  have  sent  her  back  to  her  own  country,  to 
Berlin,  to  that  young  couple  who  seemed  to  have  so 
high  an  opinion  of  her,  and  with  whom  she  had  spent 
so  successful  a  holiday  three  years  ago?  At  the  time 
it  had  seemed  unthinkable,  a  preposterous  notion, 
but  now — Mrs.  Otway  sighed — now  it  was  only  too 
clear  that  old  Anna  was  not  happy,  and  that  she 
bitterly  resented  the  very  slight  changes  the  War  had 
made  in  her  own  position. 

Anna  was  even  more  discontented  and  unhappy  than 
her  mistress  knew.  True,  both  Mrs.  Otway  and  Rose 
had  given  her  their  usual  Christmas  gifts,  and  one  of 
these  gifts  had  been  far  more  costly  than  ever  before. 
But  there  had  been  no  heart  for  the  pretty  Tree  which, 


278  Good  Old  Anna 

as  long  as  Rose  could  remember  anything,  had  been 
the  outstanding  feature  of  each  twenty-fifth  of  De- 
cember in  her  young  life. 

Yes,  it  had  indeed  been  a  dull  and  dreary  Christmas 
for  Anna!  Last  year  she  had  received  a  number  of 
delightful  presents  from  Berlin.  These  had  included 
a  marzipan  sausage,  a  marzipan  turnip,  and  a  wonder- 
ful toy  Zeppelin  made  of  sausage — a  real  sausage 
fitted  with  a  real  screw,  a  rudder,  and  at  each  end  a 
flag. 

But  this  autumn,  as  the  weeks  had  gone  by  with- 
out bringing  any  answer  to  her  affectionate  letters, 
she  had  told  herself  that  Minna,  or  if  not  Minna  then 
Willi,  would  surely  write  for  Christmas.  And  most 
bitterly  disappointed  had  Anna  felt  when  the  Christ- 
mas week  went  by  bringing  no  letter. 

In  vain  Mrs.  Otway  told  her  that  perhaps  Willi 
and  Minna  felt,  as  so  many  Germans  were  said  to  do, 
such  hatred  of  England  that  they  did  not  care  even 
to  send  a  letter  to  someone  living  there.  To  Anna 
this  seemed  quite  impossible.  It  was  far  more  likely 
that  the  cruel  English  Post  Office  had  kept  back  the 
letter  because  it  came  from  Germany. 

Now  it  was  New  Year's  Day,  and  after  having 
heard  her  mistress  go  out,  Anna,  sore  at  heart,  re- 
minded herself  that  were  she  now  in  service  in  Ger- 
many she  would  have  already  received  this  morning  a 
really  handsome  money  gift,  more  a  right  than  a  per- 
quisite, from  her  mistress.  She  did  not  remind  herself 
that  this  yearly  benefaction  is  always  demanded  back 
by  a  German  employer  of  his  servant,  if  that  servant  is 
discharged,  owing  to  her  own  fault,  within  a  year. 

Yes,  England  was  indeed  an  ill-organized  country! 


Good.  Old  Anna  279 

How  often  had  she  longed,  in  the  last  eighteen  years 
to  possess  the  privilege  of  a  wish-ticket — that  delight- 
ful Wunschzettd  which  enables  so  many  happy  people 
in  the  Fatherland  to  make  it  quite  plain  what  it  is 
they  really  want  to  have  given  them  for  a  birthday 
or  a  Christmas  present.  Strange  to  say — but  Anna 
did  not  stop  to  think  of  that  now — this  wonderful  bit 
of  organisation  does  not  always  work  out  quite  well. 
Evil  has  been  known  to  come  from  a  wish-ticket,  for 
a  modest  person  is  apt  to  ask  too  little,  and  then  is 
bitterly  disappointed  at  not  getting  more  than  he  asks 
for,  while  the  grasping  ask  too  much,  and  are  angered 
at  getting  less! 

It  would  be  doing  Anna  a  great  injustice  to  suppose 
that  her  sad  thoughts  were  all  of  herself  on  this  mourn- 
ful New  Year's  Day  of  1915.  Her  sentimental  heart 
was  pierced  with  pain  every  time  she  looked  into  the 
face  of  her  beloved  nursling.  Not  that  she  often  had 
an  opportunity  of  looking  into  Rose's  face,  for  Mrs. 
Jervis  Blake  (never  would  Anna  get  used  to  that 
name!)  only  came  home  to  sleep.  She  almost  always 
stayed  and  had  supper  with  the  Robeys,  then  she 
would  rush  home  for  the  night,  and  after  an  early 
breakfast — during  which,  to  Anna's  thinking,  she  did 
not  eat  nearly  enough — be  off  again  to  spend  with 
her  bridegroom  whatever  time  she  was  not  devoting 
to  war  work  under  Miss  Forsyth. 

Anna  had  been  curious  to  know  how  soon  Mr. 
Blake  would  be  able  to  walk,  but  in  answer  to  a  very 
simple,  affectionate  question,  the  bride,  who  had  just 
then  been  looking  so  happy — as  radiant,  indeed,  as  a 
German  bride  looks  within  a  month  of  her  marriage 
day — had  burst  into  tears,  and  said  hurriedly,  "Oh,  it 


280  Good  Old  Anna 

won't  be  very  long  now,  dear  Anna,  but  I'd  rather 
not  talk  about  it,  if  you  don't  mind." 

Yet  another  thing  added  to  Anna's  deep  depression. 
It  seemed  to  her  that  Alfred  Head  no  longer  enjoyed 
her  company  as  he  used  to  do.  He  had  ordained  that 
they  must  always  speak  English,  even  when  alone; 
and  to  her  mingled  anger  and  surprise  he  had  told 
her  plainly  that,  in  spite  of  his  solemn  assurance,  he 
neither  could  nor  would  pay  her  the  fifty  shillings 
which  was  now  owing  to  her  in  connection  with  that 
little  secret  matter  arranged  between  herself  and  Willi 
three  years  ago. 

About  this  question  of  the  fifty  shillings  Mr.  Head 
had  behaved  very  strangely  and  rudely  indeed.  He 
had  actually  tried  to  persuade  her  that  he  knew  nothing 
of  it — that  it  was  not  he  but  someone  else  who  had 
given  her  the  five  half-sovereigns  on  that  evening  of 
the  4th  of  August!  Then  when  she,  righteously  in- 
dignant, had  forced  the  reluctant  memory  upon  him, 
he  had  explained  that  everything  was  now  different, 
and  that  the  passing  of  this  money  from  him  to  her 
might  involve  them  both  in  serious  trouble. 

Anna  had  never  heard  so  flimsy  an  excuse.  She 
felt  sure  that  he  was  keeping  her  out  of  the  money 
due  to  her  because  business  was  not  quite  so  flourish- 
ing now  as  it  had  been. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

THE  days  went  on,  and  to  Mrs.  Otway's  surprise 
and  bitter  disappointment,  there  came  no  answer 
to  the  letter  she  had  written  to  the  German  surgeon. 
She  had  felt  so  sure  that  he  would  write  again  very 
soon — if  not  exactly  by  return,  then  within  a  week  or 
ten  days. 

The  only  people  she  told  were  Major  Guthrie's 
solicitor,  Robert  Allen,  and  her  daughter.  But  though 
both,  in  their  different  ways,  sympathised  with  her 
deeply,  neither  of  them  could  do  anything  to  help  her. 
Rather  against  her  will,  Mr.  Allen  wrote  and  informed 
his  client  of  Mrs.  Guthrie's  death,  asking  for  in- 
structions concerning  certain  urgent  business  matters. 
But  even  that  letter  did  not  draw  any  answer  from  the 
Field  Lazarette. 

As  for  Rose,  she  soon  gave  up  asking  if  another 
letter  had  come,  and  to  Mrs.  Otway's  sore  heart  it  was 
as  if  the  girl,  increasingly  absorbed  in  her  own  not 
always  easy  problem  of  keeping  Jervis  happy  under 
the  painful  handicap  of  his  present  invalid  condition, 
had  no  time  to  spare  for  that  of  anyone  else.  Poor 
Rose  often  felt  that  she  would  give,  as  runs  the  old 
saying,  anything  in  the  world  to  have  her  man  to  her- 
self, as  a  cottage  wife  would  have  had  hers  by  now — 
with  no  nurses,  no  friends,  no  doctor  even,  save  per- 
haps for  a  very  occasional  visit. 

But  Mrs.  Otway  was  not  fair  to  Rose;  in  never 
mentioning  Major  Guthrie  and  the  terrible  misfortune 

281 


282  Good  Old  Anna 

which  had  befallen  him,  she  was  treating  her  mother 
as  she  herself  would  have  wished  to  be  treated  in  a 
like  case. 

A  great  trouble  overshadows  all  little  troubles.  One 
disagreeable  incident  which,  had  life  been  normal  with 
her  then,  would  have  much  irritated  and  annoyed  the 
mistress  of  the  Trellis  House,  was  the  arrival  of  a 
curt  notice  stating  that  her  telephone  was  to  be  dis- 
connected, owing  to  the  fact  that  there  resided  in  her 
house  an  enemy  alien  in  the  person  of  one  Anna 
Bauer. 

Now  the  telephone  had  never  been  as  necessary  to 
Mrs.  Otway  as  it  was  to  many  of  her  acquaintances, 
but  lately,  since  her  life  had  become  so  lonely,  she 
had  fallen  into  the  way  of  talking  over  it  each  morn- 
ing with  Miss  Forsyth. 

Miss  Forsyth,  whom  the  people  of  Witanbury 
thought  so  absurdly  old-fashioned,  had  been  one  of 
the  very  first  telephone  subscribers  in  Witanbury. 
But  she  had  sternly  set  her  face  against  its  frivolous 
and  extravagant  use.  This  being  so,  it  was  a  little 
strange  that  she  so  willingly  spent  five  minutes  or 
more  of  her  morning  work-time  in  talking  over  it 
to  Mrs.  Otway.  But  Miss  Forsyth  had  become  aware 
that  all  was  not  well  with  her  friend,  and  this  seemed 
the  only  way  she  was  able  to  help  in  a  trouble  or  state 
of  mental  distress  to  which  she  had  no  clue — though 
sometimes  a  suspicion  which  touched  on  the  fringe 
of  the  truth  came  into  her  mind. 

During  these  morning  talks  they  would  sometimes 
discuss  the  War.  Mrs.  Otway  never  spoke  of  the 
War  to  anyone  else,  for  even  now  she  could  not  bring 
herself  to  share  the  growing  horror  and,  yes,  contempt, 


Good  Old  Anna  283 

all  those  about  her  felt  for  Germany.  Miss  Forsyth 
was  an  intelligent  woman,  and,  as  her  friend  knew, 
had  sources  of  information  denied  to  the  amateur 
strategists  and  gossips  of  Witanbury  Close.  So  it 
was  that  the  forced  discontinuance  of  the  little  morn- 
ing talk,  which  so  often  brought  comfort  to  Mrs. 
Otway's  sore  heart,  was  a  real  pain  and  loss. 
.  She  had  made  a  spirited  protest,  pointing  out  that 
all  her  neighbours  had  the  telephone,  and  that  by 
merely  asking  any  of  them  to  allow  her  servant  to 
send  a  message,  she  could  circumvent  this,  to  her, 
absurd  and  unnecessary  rule.  But  her  protest  had 
only  brought  a  formal  acknowledgment,  and  that 
very  day  her  telephone  had  been  disconnected. 

She  would  have  been  astonished,  even  now,  had 
she  known  with  what  ever-swelling  suspicion  some  of 
her  neighbours  and  acquaintances  regarded  her. 

The  great  rolling  uplands  round  the  city  were  now 
covered  with  vast  camps,  and  Witanbury  every  day 
was  full  of  soldiers;  there  was  not  a  family  in  the 
Close,  and  scarce  a  family  in  the  town,  but  had  more 
than  one  near  and  dear  son,  husband,  brother,  lover, 
in  the  New  Armies,  if  not  yet — as  in  very  many  cases 
— already  out  at  the  Front. 

In  spite  of  what  was  still  described  as  Rose  Otway's 
"romantic  marriage,"  Mrs.  Otway  was  regarded  as 
having  no  connection  with  the  Army,  and  her  old 
affection  for  Germany  and  the  Germans  was  resented, 
as  also  the  outstanding  fact  that  she  still  retained 
in  her  service  an  enemy  alien. 

And,  as  is  almost  always  the  case,  there  was  some 
ground  for  this  feeling,  for  it  was  true  that  the  mis- 
tress of  the  Trellis  House  took  very  little  interest  in 


284  Good  Old  Anna 

the  course  of  the  great  struggle  which  was  going  on 
in  France  and  in  Flanders.  She  glanced  over  the 
paper  each  morning,  and  often  a  name  seen  in  the 
casualty  lists  brought  her  the  painful  task  of  writing  a 
letter  of  condolence  to  some  old  friend  or  acquaint- 
ance. But  she  did  not  care,  as  did  all  the  people 
around  her,  to  talk  about  the  War.  It  had  brought 
to  her,  personally,  too  much  hidden  pain.  How  sur- 
prised her  critics  would  have  been  had  an  angel,  or 
some  equally  credible  witness  informed  them  that  of 
all  the  women  of  their  acquaintance  there  was  no  one 
whose  life  had  been  more  altered  or  affected  by  the 
War  than  Mary  Otway's ! 

She  was  too  unhappy  to  care  much  what  those  about 
her  thought  of  her.  Even  so,  it  did  hurt  her  when 
she  came,  slowly,  to  realise  that  the  Robeys  and  Mrs. 
Haworth,  who  were  after  all  the  most  intimate  of  her 
neighbours  in  the  Close,  regarded  with  surprise,  and 
yes,  indignation,  what  they  imagined  to  be  an  un- 
patriotic disinclination  on  her  part  to  follow  intelli- 
gently the  march  of  events. 

It  took  her  longer  to  find  out  that  the  continued 
presence  of  her  good  old  Anna  at  the  Trellis  House 
was  rousing  a  certain  amount  of  disagreeable  comment. 
At  first  no  one  had  thought  it  in  the  least  strange  that 
Anna  stayed  on  with  her,  but  now,  occasionally,  some- 
one said  a  word  indicative  of  surprise  that  there 
should  be  a  German  woman  living  in  Witanbury 
Close. 

But  what  were  these  foolish,  ignorant  criticisms 
but  tiny  pin-pricks  compared  with  the  hidden  wound 
in  her  heart?  The  news  for  which  she  craved  was 
not  news  of  victory  from  the  Front,  but  news  that 


Good  Old  Anna  28$ 

at  last  the  negotiations  now  in  progress  for  the  ex- 
change of  disabled  prisoners  of  war  had  been  success- 
ful. That  news,  however,  seemed  as  if  it  would  never 
come. 

In  one  thing  Mrs.  Otway  was  fortunate.  There 
was  plenty  of  hard  work  to  do  that  winter  in  Witan- 
bury,  and,  in  spite  of  her  supposed  lack  of  interest 
in  the  War,  Mrs.  Otway  had  a  wonderful  way  with 
soldiers'  wives  and  mothers,  so  much  so  that  in  time 
all  the  more  difficult  cases  were  handed  over  to  her. 

"This  is  to  warn  you  that  you  are  being  watched. 
A  friend  of  England  is  keeping  an  eye  on  you,  not 
ostentatiously,  but  none  the  less  very  closely.  Dis- 
miss the  German  woman  who  has  already  been  too 
long  in  your  employment.  England  can  take  no 
risks." 

Mrs.  Otway  had  come  home,  after  a  long  after- 
noon of  visiting,  and  found  this  anonymous  letter 
waiting  for  her.  On  the  envelope  her  name  and 
address  were  inscribed  in  large  capitals. 

She  stared  down  at  the  dictatorial  message — written 
of  course  in  a  disguised  hand — with  mingled  disgust 
and  amusement.  Then,  suddenly,  she  made  up  her 
mind  to  show  it  to  Miss  Forsyth  before  burning  it. 

Tired  though  she  was,  she  left  the  house  again, 
and  slowly  walked  round  to  see  her  old  friend. 

Miss  Forsyth  smiled  over  it,  but  she  also  frowned, 
and  she  frowned  more  than  she  smiled  when  Mrs. 
Otway  exclaimed,  "Did  you  ever  see  such  an  extra- 
ordinary thing?" 

"It  is  not  so  extraordinary  as  you  think,  Mary!  I 
must  honestly  tell  you  that  in  my  opinion  the  writer 


286  Good  Old  Anna 

of  this  anonymous  letter  is  right  in  believing  that  there 
is  a  good  deal  of  spying  and  of  conveying  valuable 
information  to  the  enemy." 

She  waited  a  moment,  and  then  went  on,  deliber- 
ately :  "I  suppose  you  are  quite  sure  of  your  old  Anna, 
my  dear?  Used  she  not  to  be  in  very  close  touch 
with  Berlin?  Has  she  broken  all  that  off  since  the 
War  began?" 

"Indeed  she  has!"  cried  Mrs.  Otway  eagerly.  She 
was  surprised  at  the  turn  the  conversation  had  taken. 
Was  it  conceivable  that  Miss  Forsyth  must  be  num- 
bered henceforth  among  the  spy  maniacs  of  whom 
she  knew  there  were  a  good  many  in  Witanbury? 
"She  made  every  kind  of  effort  early  in  the  War — 
for  the  matter  of  that  I  did  what  I  could  to  help  her — 
to  get  into  touch  with  her  relations  there,  for  she  was 
very  anxious  and  miserable  about  them.  But  she 
failed — absolutely  failed !" 

"And  how  about  her  German  friends  in  England? 
I  suppose  she  has  German  friends?" 

"To  the  best  of  my  belief,  she  hasn't  a  single 
German  acquaintance!"  exclaimed  Anna's  mistress 
confidently.  "She  used  to  know  those  unfortunate 
Frohlings  rather  well,  but,  as  I  daresay  you  know, 
they  left  Witanbury  quite  early  in  the  War — in  fact 
during  the  first  week  of  war.  And  she  certainly 
hasn't  heard  from  them.  I  asked  her  if  she  had, 
some  time  ago.  Dear  Miss  Forsyth,  do  believe  me 
when  I  say  that,  apart  from  her  very  German  appear- 
ance, and  her  funny  way  of  talking,  my  poor  old 
Anna  is  to  all  intents  and  purposes  an  English- 
woman. Why,  she  has  lived  in  England  twenty-two 
years!" 


Good  Old  Anna  287 

There  came  a  very  curious,  dubious,  hesitating  ex- 
pression on  Miss  Forsyth's  face.  "I  daresay  that 
what  you  say  is  true,"  she  said  at  last.  "But  even 
so,  if  I  were  you,  Mary,  I  should  show  her  that  letter. 
She  may  be  in  touch  with  some  of  her  own  people — • 
I  mean  in  all  innocence.  It  would  be  very  disagree- 
able for  you  if  such  turned  out  to  be  the  case.  I 
happen  to  know  that  Witanbury  is  believed  to  be — 
well,  what  shall  I  call  it? — a  spy  centre  for  this  part 
of  England.  I  don't  know  that  it's  so  much  the 
city,  as  the  neighbourhood.  You  see,  we're  not  so 
very  far  away  from  one  of  the  beaches  which  it  is 
thought  the  Germans,  if  they  did  try  a  landing,  would 
choose  as  a  good  place." 

Mrs.  Otway's  extreme  astonishment  showed  in  her 
face. 

"You  know  I  never  gossip,  Mary,  so  you  may  take 
what  I  say  as  being  true.  But  I  beg  you  to  keep 
it  to  yourself.  Don't  even  tell  Rose,  or  the  Dean. 
My  information  does  not  come  from  anyone  here, 
in  Witanbury.  It  comes  from  London." 

Straws  show  the  way  the  wind  is  blowing.  The 
anonymous  letter  sent  to  the  Trellis  House  was  one 
straw;  another  was  the  revelation  made  to  Mrs. 
Otway  by  Miss  Forsyth. 

The  wind  indicated  by  these  two  small  straws  sud- 
denly developed,  on  the  25th  of  March,  into  a  hurri- 
cane. Luckily  it  was  not  a  hurricane  which  affected 
Mrs.  Otway  or  her  good  old  Anna  at  all  directly,  but 
it  upset  them  both,  in  their  several  ways,  very  much 
indeed,  for  it  took  the  extraordinary  shape  of  a  violent 
attack  by  a  mob  armed  with  pickaxes  and  crowbars 


288  Good  Old  Anna 

on  certain  so-called  Germans — for  they  were  all 
naturalised — and  their  property. 

A  very  successful  recruiting  meeting  had  been  held 
in  the  Market  Place.  At  this  meeting  the  local 
worthies  had  been  present  in  force.  Thus,  on  the 
platform  which  had  been  erected  in  front  of  the 
Council  House,  the  Lord  Lieutenant  of  the  County, 
supported  by  many  religious  dignitaries,  headed  by 
the  Dean,  had  made  an  excellent  speech,  followed  by 
other  short,  stirring  addresses,  each  a  trumpet  call 
to  the  patriotism  of  Witanbury.  Not  one  of  these 
speeches  incited  to  violence  in  any  form,  but  reference 
had  naturally  been  made  to  some  of  the  terrible 
things  that  the  Germans  had  done  in  Belgium,  and 
one  speaker  had  made  it  very  plain  that  should  a 
German  invasion  take  place  on  the  British  coast,  the 
civilian  population  must  expect  that  the  fate  of  Bel- 
gium would  be  theirs. 

The  meeting  had  come  to  a  peaceful  end,  and  then, 
an  hour  later,  as  soon  as  the  great  personages  had 
all  gone  and  night  had  begun  to  fall,  rioting  had 
suddenly  broken  out,  the  rioters  being  led  by  two 
women,  both  Irish-women,  whose  husbands  were  be- 
lieved to  have  been  cruelly  ill-treated  when  on  their 
way  to  a  prison  camp  in  Germany. 

The  story  had  been  published  in  the  local  paper, 
on  the  testimony  of  a  medical  orderly  who  had  come 
back  to  England  after  many  strange  adventures. 
True,  an  allusion  had  been  made  to  the  matter  in  one 
of  the  recruiting  speeches,  but  the  speaker  had  not 
made  very  much  of  it;  and  ihough  what  he  had 
said  had  drawn  groans  from  his  large  audience,  and 
though  the  words  he  had  used  undoubtedly  made 


Good  Old  Anna 


it  more  easy  for  the  magistrate,  when  he  came  to 
deal  with  the  case  of  these  two  women,  to  dismiss 
them  with  only  a  caution,  yet  no  one  could  reasonably 
suppose  that  it  was  this  which  led  to  the  riot. 

For  a  few  minutes  things  had  looked  very  ugly.  A 
good  deal  of  damage  was  done,  for  instance,  to  the 
boot  factory,  which  was  still  being  managed  (and 
very  well  managed  too)  by  a  naturalised  German  and 
his  son.  Then  the  rioters  had  turned  their  attention 
to  the  Witanbury  Stores.  "The  Kaiser,"  as  Alfred 
Head  was  still  called  by  his  less  kindly  neighbours, 
had  always  been  disliked  in  the  poorer  quarters  of  the 
town,  and  that  long  before  the  War.  Now  was  the 
time  for  paying  off  old  scores.  So  the  plate-glass 
windows  were  shivered  with  a  will,  as  well  as  with 
pickaxes;  and  all  the  goods,  mostly  consisting  of 
bacon,  butter,  and  cheese,  which  had  dressed  those 
windows,  had  been  taken  out,  thrown  among  the 
rioters,  and  borne  off  in  triumph.  It  was  fortunate 
that  no  damage  had  been  done  there  to  life  or  limb. 

Alfred  Head  had  fled  at  once  to  the  highest  room  in 
the  building.  There  he  had  stayed,  locked  in,  cower- 
ing and  shivering,  till  the  police,  strongly  reinforced 
by  soldiers,  had  driven  the  rioters  off. 

Polly  at  first  had  stood  her  ground.  "Cowards! 
Cowards!"  she  had  cried,  bravely  rushing  into  the 
shop ;  and  it  was  no  thanks  to  the  rioters  that  she  had 
not  been  very  roughly  handled  indeed.  Luckily  the 
police  just  then  had  got  in  by  the  back  of  the  building, 
and  had  dragged  her  away. 

Even  into  the  quiet  Close  there  had  penetrated 
certain  ominous  sounds  indicative  of  what  was  going 


290  Good  Old  Anna 

on  in  the  Market  Place.  And  poor  old  Anna  had  gone 
quite  white,  or  rather  yellow,  with  fright. 

By  the  next  morning  the  cold  fit  had  succeeded 
the  hot  fit,  and  all  Witanbury  was  properly  ashamed 
of  what  had  happened.  The  cells  under  the  Council 
Chamber  were  fuller  than  they  had  ever  been,  and 
no  one  could  be  found  to  say  a  good  word  for  the 
rioters. 

As  for  Dr.  Haworth,  he  was  cut  to  the  heart  by 
what  had  occurred,  and  it  became  known  that  he  had 
actually  offered  the  hospitality  of  the  Deanery  to 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Alfred  Head,  even  to  sending  his  own 
carriage  for  them — or  so  it  was  averred.  Gratefully 
had  they  accepted  his  kindness;  and  though  Alfred 
Head  was  now  back  in  his  place  of  business,  trying 
to  estimate  the  damage  and  to  arrange  for  its  being 
made  good,  Polly  was  remaining  on  at  the  Deanery 
for  a  few  hours. 

But  those  two  days,  which  will  be  always  remem- 
bered by  the  people  of  the  cathedral  city  as  having 
witnessed  the  one  War  riot  of  Witanbury,  were  to 
have  very  different  associations  for  Mrs.  Otway  and 
her  daughter,  Rose  Blake.  For  on  the  morning  of  the 
26th  a  telegram  arrived  at  the  Trellis  House  contain- 
ing the  news  that  at  last  the  exchange  of  disabled 
prisoners  had  been  arranged,  and  that  Major  Guthrie's 
name  was  in  the  list  of  those  British  officers  who 
might  be  expected  back  from  Germany,  via  Holland, 
within  the  next  forty-eight  hours. 

And,  as  if  this  was  not  joy  enough,  Sir  Jacques,  on 
the  same  day,  told  his  young  friends  that  now  at  last 


Good  Old  Anna  291 

the  time  had  come  when  they  might  go  off,  alone 
together,  to  the  little  house,  within  sound  of  the  sea, 
which  an  old  friend  of  Lady  Blake  had  offered  to  lend 
them  for  Jervis's  convalescence — and  honeymoon. 


ANNA  was  hurrying  through  the  quiet  streets  of 
Witanbury  on  her  way  to  Mr.  Head's  Stores. 

As  she  walked  along,  looking  neither  to  the  right 
nor  to  the  left,  for  she  had  of  late  become  unpleasantly 
conscious  of  her  alien  nationality,  she  pondered  with 
astonishment  and  resentment  the  events  of  the  last 
two  days — the  receipt  of  a  telegram  by  Mrs.  Otway, 
and  its  destruction,  or  at  any  rate  its  disappearance, 
before  she,  Anna,  could  learn  its  contents;  and,  evi- 
dently in  consequence  of  the  telegram,  her  mistress's 
hurried  packing  and  departure  for  London. 

Then  had  followed  a  long,  empty  day,  the  old 
woman's  feelings  of  uneasiness  and  curiosity  being 
but  little  relieved  by  Rose's  eager  words,  uttered  late 
on  the  same  evening:  "Oh,  Anna,  didn't  mother  tell 
you  the  great  news?  Major  Guthrie  is  coming  home. 
She  has  gone  up  to  meet  him!"  The  next  morning 
Mrs.  Jervis  Blake  herself  had  gone  to  London,  this 
being  the  first  time  she  had  left  her  husband  since  their 
marriage. 

There  had  come  another  day  of  trying  silence  for 
Anna,  and  then  a  letter  from  Rose  to  her  old  nurse. 
It  was  a  letter  which  contained  astounding  news.  Mrs. 
Otway  was  coming  back  late  to-night,  and  was  to  be 
married — married,  to-morrow  morning  in  the  Cathe- 
dral, to  Major  Guthrie ! 

The  bride-elect  sent  good  old  Anna  her  love,  and 
bade  her  not  worry. 

292 


Good  Old  Anna  293 

Of  all  the  injunctions  people  are  apt  to  give  one 
another,  perhaps  the  most  cruel  and  the  most  futile 
is  that  of  not  to  worry.  Mrs.  Otway  had  really  meant 
to  be  kind,  but  her  message  gave  Anna  Bauer  a  most 
unhappy  day.  The  old  German  woman  had  long  ago 
made  up  her  mind  that  when  it  suited  herself  she 
would  leave  the  Trellis  House,  but  never,  never  had 
it  occurred  to  her  that  anything  could  happen  which 
might  compel  her  to  do  so. 

At  last,  when  evening  fell,  she  felt  she  could  no 
longer  bear  her  loneliness  and  depression.  Also  she 
longed  to  tell  her  surprising  news  to  sympathetic  ears. 

All  through  that  long  day  Anna  Bauer  had  been 
making  up  her  mind  to  go  back  to  Germany.  She 
knew  that  there  would  be  no  difficulty  about  it,  for 
something  Mrs.  Otway  had  told  her  a  few  weeks  ago 
showed  that  many  German  women  were  going  home, 
helped  thereto  by  the  British  Government.  As  for 
Willi  and  Minna,  however  bitterly  they  might  feel 
towards  England,  they  would  certainly  welcome  her 
when  they  realised  how  much  money,  all  her  savings, 
she  was  bringing  with  her. 

As  she  walked  quickly  along — getting  very  puffy, 
for  she  was  stout  and  short  of  breath — it  seemed  to 
her  as  if  the  kindly  old  city,  where  she  had  lived  in 
happiness  and  amity  for  so  many  years,  had  changed 
in  character.  She  felt  as  if  the  windows  of  the  houses 
were  frowning  down  at  her,  and  as  if  cruel  pitfalls 
yawned  in  her  way. 

Her  depression  was  increased  by  her  first  sight  of 
the  building  for  which  she  was  bound,  for,  as  she 
walked  across  the  Market  Place,  she  saw  the  boarded 
up  shop-front  of  the  Stores.  "Mr.  Head  hoped  to 


294  Good  Old  Anna 

get  the  plate-glass  to-morrow" — so  the  boy  who  had 
brought  the  butter  and  eggs  that  morning  had  ex- 
claimed— "but  just  now  there  was  a  great  shortage 
of  that  particular  kind  of  shop-front  glass,  as  it  was 
mostly  made  in  Belgium." 

Meanwhile  the  Witanbury  Stores  presented  a  very 
sorry  appearance — the  more  so  that  some  evilly  dis- 
posed person  had  gone  in  the  dark,  after  the  boarding 
had  been  put  up,  and  splashed  across  the  boards  a 
quantity  of  horrid  black  stuff ! 

Anna  hurried  round  to  the  back  door.  In  answer 
to  her  ring,  'the  door  was  opened  at  last  a  little  way, 
and  Polly's  pretty,  anxious  face  looked  out  cautiously. 
But  when  she  saw  who  it  was,  she  smiled  pleasantly. 

"Oh,  come  in,  Mrs.  Bauer!  I'm  glad  to  see  you. 
You'll  help  me  cheer  poor  Alfred  up  a  bit.  Not  but 
what  he  ought  to  be  happy  now — for  what  d'you 
think  happened  at  three  o'clock  to-day?  Why,  the 
Dean  himself  came  along  and  left  a  beautiful  letter 
with  us — an  Address,  he  called  it."  She  was  walking 
down  the  passage  as  she  spoke,  and  when  she  opened 
the  parlour  door  she  called  out  cheerfully,  "Here's 
Mrs.  Bauer  come  to  see  us!  I  tell  her  she'll  have  to 
help  cheer  you  up  a  bit." 

And  truth  to  tell  Alfred  Head  did  look  both  ill  and 
haggard — but  no,  not  unhappy.  Even  Anna  noticed 
that  there  was  a  gleam  of  triumph  in  his  eyes.  "Very 
pleased  to  see  you,  I'm  sure!"  he  exclaimed  cordially. 
"Yes,  it  is  as  Polly  says — out  of  evil  good  has  come 
to  us.  See  here,  my  dear  friend!" 

Anna  came  forward.  She  already  felt  better,  less 
despondent,  but  it  was  to  Polly  she  addressed  her 
condolences.  "What  wicked  folk  in  this  city  there 


Good  Old  Anna  295 

are!"  she  exclaimed.     "Even  Mr.  Robey  to  me  says, 
'Dastardly  conduct !'  " 

"Yes,  yes,"  said  Polly  hastily.     "It  was  dreadful! 

But  look  at  this,  Mrs.  Bauer She  held  towards 

Anna  a  large  sheet  of  thick,  fine  cream-laid  paper. 
Across  the  top  was  typed — 

"TO  ALFRED  HEAD, 
CITY  COUNCILLOR  OF  WITANBURY." 

Then  underneath,  also  in  typewriting,  the  following 
words : 

"We  the  undersigned,  your  fellow-countrymen  and  fellow- 
citizens  of  Witanbury,  wish  to  express  to  you  our  utter 
abhorrence  and  sense  of  personal  shame  in  the  dastardly 
attack  which  was  made  on  your  house  and  property  on 
March  25,  1915.  As  a  small  token  of  regard  we  desire 
to  inform  you  that  we  have  started  a  fund  for  compensat- 
ing you  for  any  material  loss  you  may  have  incurred  which 
is  not  covered  by  your  plate-glass  insurance." 

There  followed,  written  in  ink,  a  considerable  num- 
ber of  signatures.  These  were  headed  by  the  Dean, 
and  included  the  names  of  most  of  the  canons  and 
minor  canons,  four  Dissenting  ministers,  and  about 
a  hundred  others  belonging  to  all  classes  in  and  near 
the  cathedral  city. 

True,  there  were  certain  regrettable  omissions,  but 
fortunately  neither  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Head  nor  Anna 
seemed  aware  of  it.  One  such  omission  was  that  of 
the  Catholic  priest.  Great  pressure  had  been  brought 
to  bear  on  him,  but  perhaps  because  there  was  little 
doubt  that  members  of  his  congregation  had  been  con- 
cerned in  the  outrage,  he  had  obstinately  refused  to 


296  Good  Old  Anna 

sign  the  Address.  More  strange  and  regrettable  was 
the  fact  that  Miss  Forsyth's  name  was  also  omitted 
from  the  list.  In  answer  to  a  personal  appeal  made 
to  her  by  the  Dean,  who  had  himself  gone  to  the 
trouble  of  calling  in  order  to  obtain  her  signature,  she 
had  explained  that  she  never  did  give  her  signature. 
She  had  made  the  rule  thirty  years  ago,  and  she  saw 
no  reason  for  breaking  it  to-day. 

Anna  looked  up  from  the  paper,  and  her  pale  blue, 
now  red-rimmed,  eyes  sparkled  with  congratulation. 
"This  is  good!"  she  exclaimed  in  German.  "Very, 
very  good !" 

Her  host  answered  in  English,  "Truly  I  am  grati- 
fied. It  is  a  compensation  to  me  for  all  I  have  gone 
through  these  last  few  days." 

"Yes,"  said  Polly  quickly.  "And  as  you  see,  Mrs. 
Bauer,  we  are  to  be  really  compensated.  We  were 
thinking  only  yesterday  that  the  damage  done — I  mean 
the  damage  by  which  we  should  be  out  of  pocket — 
was  at  least  £15.  But,  as  Alfred  says,  that  was  putting 
it  very  low.  He  thinks,  and  I  quite  agree — don't  you, 
Mrs.  Bauer  ? — that  it  would  be  fair  to  put  the  damage 
down  at — let  me  see,  what  did  you  say,  Alfred?" 

"According  to  my  calculation,"  he  said  cautiously, 
"I  think  we  may  truly  call  it  twenty-seven  pounds  ten 
shillings  and  ninepence." 

"That,"  said  Polly,  "is  allowing  for  the  profit  we 
should  certainly  have  made  on  the  articles  those 
wretches  stole  out  of  the  windows.  I  think  it's  fair  to 
do  that,  don't  you,  Mrs.  Bauer?" 

"Indeed  yes — that  thoroughly  to  agree  I  do!"  ex- 
claimed Anna. 


Good  Old  Anna  297 

And  then  rather  sharply,  perhaps  a  trifle  anxiously, 
Alfred  Head  leant  over  to  his  visitor,  and  looking  at 
her  very  straight,  he  said,  "And  do  you  bring  any 
news  to-night?  Not  that  there  ever  seems  any  good 
news  now — and  the  other  sort  we  can  do  without." 

She  understood  that  this  was  Mr.  Head's  polite 
way  of  asking  why  she  had  come  this  evening,  with- 
out an  invitation.  Hurriedly  she  answered,  "No  news 
of  any  special  kind  I  have — though  much  that  me 
concerns.  Along  to  ask  your  advice  I  came.  Supper 
require  I  do  not." 

"Oh,  but  you  must  stop  and  have  supper  with  us — 
with  me  I  mean,"  said  Polly  eagerly,  "for  Alfred 
is  going  out — aren't  you,  Alfred?" 

He  hesitated  a  moment.  "I  shall  see  about  doing 
that.  There  is  no  hurry.  Well,  what  is  it  you  want 
to  ask  me,  Mrs.  Bauer?" 

At  once  Anna  plunged  into  her  woes,  disappoint- 
ment, and  fears.  Now  that  the  excitement  and  pride 
induced  by  the  Address  had  gone  from  his  face,  Alfred 
Head  looked  anxious  and  uneasy;  but  on  hearing 
Anna's  great  piece  of  news  he  looked  up  eagerly. 

"Mrs.  Otway  and  this  Major  Guthrie  to  be  married 
at  the  Cathedral  to-morrow?  But  this  is  very  excit- 
ing news!"  he  exclaimed.  "D'you  hear  that,  Polly? 
I  think  we  must  go  to  this  ceremony.  It  will  be  very 

interesting "  his  eyes  gleamed ;  there  was  a  rather 

wolfish  light  in  them.  "The  poor  gentleman  is  blind, 
is  he?  It  is  lucky  he  will  not  see  how  old  his  bride 
looks "  he  added  a  word  or  two  in  German. 

Anna  shrank  back,  and,  speaking  German  too,  she 
answered,  "Mrs.  Otway  has  a  very  young  face,  and 
,when  not  unhappy,  she  is  very  bright  and  lively.  For 


298  Good  Old  Anna 

my  part,  I  think  this  Major  a  very-much-to-be-envied 
man !"  Her  loyalty  to  the  woman  who  had  been  kind 
and  good  to  her  over  so  many  years  awakened,  tardily. 

"No  doubt,  no  doubt,"  said  Alfred  Head  carelessly. 
"But  now  I  suppose  you  are  thinking  of  yourself, 
Frau  Bauer?" 

Polly  broke  in:  "Do  talk  in  English,"  she  said 
pettishly.  "You  can't  think  how  tiresome  it  is  to  hear 
that  rook's  language  going  on  all  the  time!" 

Her  husband  laughed.  "Well,  I  suppose  this  mar- 
riage will  make  a  difference  to  you?"  he  said  in 
English. 

"A  difference?"  exclaimed  Anna  ruefully.  "Why, 
my  good  situation  me  it  loses.  Home  to  the  Father- 
land my  present  idea  is "  her  eyes  filled  with  big 

tears. 

Her  host  looked  at  her  thoughtfully.  What  an  old 
fool  she  was!  But  that,  from  his  point  of  view,  was 
certainly  not  to  be  regretted.  She  had  served  his  pur- 
pose well — and  more  than  once. 

"Mrs.  Otway  she  a  friend  has  who  a  German  maid 
had.  The  maid  last  week  to  Holland  was  sent,  so 
no  trouble  can  there  be.  However,  one  thing  there 

is "  she  looked  dubiously  at  Polly.  "Mrs.  Head 

here  knows,  does  she,  about  my ?" 

And  then  at  once  between  Alfred  Head's  teeth 
came  the  angry  command,  in  her  own  language,  to 
speak  German. 

She  went  on  eagerly,  fluently  now:  "You  will  un- 
derstand, Mr.  Head,  that  I  cannot  behave  wrongly 
to  my  dear  nephew  Willi's  superior.  I  have  been 
wondering  to-night  whether  I  could  hand  the  affair 
over  to  you.  After  all,  a  hundred  marks  a  year  are 


Good  Old  Anna  299 

not  to  be  despised  in  these  times.  You  yourself  say 

that  after  the  War  the  money  will  be  made  up " 

she  looked  at  him  expectantly. 

He  said  rather  quickly  to  his  wife,  "Look  here, 
Polly!  Never  mind  this — it's  business  you  wouldn't 
understand!"  And  his  wife  shrugged  her  shoulders. 
She  didn't  care  what  the  old  woman  was  saying  to 
Alfred.  She  supposed  it  was  something  about  the 
War — the  War  of  which  she  was  so  heartily  sick,  and 
which  had  brought  them,  personally,  such  bad  luck. 

"It  is  difficult  to  decide  such  a  thing  in  a  hurry," 
said  Alfred  Head  slowly. 

"But  it  will  have  to  be  decided  in  a  hurry,"  said 
Anna  firmly.  "What  is  to  happen  if  to-morrow  Mrs. 
Otway  comes  and  tells  me  that  I  am  to  go  away  to 
London,  to  Louisa?  English  people  are  very  funny, 
as  you  know  well,  Herr  Hegner !"  In  her  excitement 
she  forgot  his  new  name,  and  he  winced  a  little  when 
he  heard  the  old  appellation,  but  he  did  not  rebuke 
her,  and  she  went  on :  "Willi  told  me,  and  so  did 
the  gentleman,  than  on  no  account  must  I  move  that 
which  was  confided  to  me." 

"Attend  to  me,  Frau  Bauer!"  he  said  imperiously. 
"This  matter  is  perhaps  more  important  than  even 
you  know,  especially  at  such  a  time  as  this." 

"Ach,  yes!"  she  said.  "I  have  often  said  that  to 
myself.  Willi's  friend  may  be  interned  by  now  in 
one  of  those  horrible  camps — it  is  indeed  a  difficult 
question!" 

"I  do  not  say  I  shall  be  able  to  do  it,  but  I  will 
make  a  big  effort  to  have  the  whole  business  settled 
for  you  to-morrow  morning.  What  do  you  say  to 
that?" 


300  Good  Old  Anna 

"Splendid!"  she  exclaimed.  "You  are  in  truth  a 
good  friend  to  poor  old  Anna  Bauer!" 

"I  wish  to  be,"  he  said.  "And  you  understand,  do 
you  not,  Frau  Bauer,  that  under  no  conceivable  cir- 
cumstances are  you  to  bring  me  into  the  affair  ?  Have 
I  your  word — your  oath — on  that?" 

"Certainly,"  she  said  soberly.  "You  have  my  word, 
my  oath,  on  it." 

"You  see  it  does  not  do  for  me  to  be  mixed  up 
with  any  Germans,"  he  went  on  quickly.  "I  am  an 
Englishman  now — as  this  gratifying  Address  truly 

says "  he  waited  a  moment.  "What  would  be  the 

best  time  for  the  person  who  will  come  to  call?" 

Anna  hesitated.  "I  don't  know,"  she  said  help- 
lessly. "The  marriage  is  to  be  at  twelve,  and  before 
then  there  will  be  a  great  deal  of  coming  and  going 
at  the  Trellis  House." 

"Is  it  necessary  for  you  to  attend  the  bridal?"  he 
asked. 

Anna  shook  her  head.  "No,"  she  said,  "I  do  not 
think  so;  I  shall  not  be  missed."  There  was  a  tone  of 
bitterness  in  her  voice. 

"Then  the  best  thing  will  be  for  your  visitor  to  come 
during  the  marriage  ceremony.  That  marriage  will 
draw  away  all  the  busybodies.  And  it  is  not  as  if 
your  visitor  need  stay  long " 

"Not  more  than  a  very  few  minutes,"  she  said 
eagerly,  and  then,  "Will  it  be  the  same  gentleman  who 
came  three  years  ago  ?" 

"Oh,  no;  it  will  be  someone  quite  different.  He 
will  come  in  a  motor,  and  I  expect  a  Boy  Scout  will 
be  with  him." 


Good  Old  Anna  301 

A  gleam  of  light  shot  across  Anna's  mind.  But  she 
made  no  remark,  and  her  host  went  on : 

"You  realise  that  great  care  must  be  taken  of  those 
things.  In  fact,  you  had  better  leave  it  all  to  him." 

"Oh,  yes,"  she  nodded  understandingly.  "I  know 
they  are  fragile.  I  was  told  so." 

It  was  extraordinary  the  relief  she  felt — more  than 
relief,  positive  joy. 

"As  to  the  other  matter — the  matter  of  your  re- 
turning to  Germany,"  he  said  musingly,  still  speaking 
in  his  and  her  native  language,  "I  think,  yes,  on  the 
whole  your  idea  is  a  good  one,  Frau  Bauer.  It  is 
shameful  that  it  should  be  so,  but  England  is  no  place 
at  present  for  an  honest  German  woman  who  has  not 
taken  out  her  certificate.  I  wonder  if  you  are  aware 
that  you  will  only  be  allowed  to  take  away  a  very  little 
money?  You  had  better  perhaps  confide  the  rest  of 
your  savings  to  me.  I  will  take  care  of  them  for  you 
till  the  end  of  the  War." 

"Very  little  money?"  repeated  Anna,  in  a  horrified, 
bewildered  tone.  "What  do  you  mean,  Herr  Hegner? 
I  do  not  understand." 

"And  yet  it  is  clear  enough,"  he  said  calmly.  "The 
British  Government  will  not  allow  anyone  going  to  the 
Fatherland  to  take  more  than  a  very  few  pounds — just 
enough  to  get  them  where  they  want  to  go,  and  a  mark 
or  two  over.  But  that  need  not  distress  you,  Frau 
Bauer." 

"But  it  does  distress  me  very  much!"  exclaimed 

Anna.  "In  fact,  I  do  not  see  now  how  I  can  go " 

She  began  to  cry.  "Are  you  sure — quite  sure — of  what 
you  say?" 

"Yes,  I  am  quite  sure,"  he  spoke  rather  grimly. 


302  Good  Old  Anna 

"Well,  if  you  feel  in  that  way,  there  is  nothing  more 
to  be  said.  You  will  either  stay  with  your  present  lady, 
or  you  will  have  to  go  to  the  Pollits." 

She  looked  up  at  him  quickly ;  she  was  surprised  that 
he  remembered  her  daughter's  married  name,  but  it 
had  slipped  off  his  tongue  quite  easily. 

"Never  will  I  do  that!"  she  exclaimed. 

"Then  you  had  better  arrange  to  stop  here.  There 
are  plenty  of  people  in  Witanbury  who  would  be  only 
too  glad  to  have  such  an  excellent  help  as  you  are, 
Frau  Bauer." 

"I  shall  not  be  compelled  to  look  out  for  a  new  situ- 
ation," she  said  quickly.  "My  young  lady  would  never 
allow  that — neither  would  Mrs.  Otway!" 

But  even  so,  poor  Anna  felt  disturbed — disturbed 
and  terribly  disheartened.  The  money  she  had  saved 
was  her  own  money!  She  could  not  understand  by 
what  right  the  British  Government  could  prevent  her 
taking  it  with  her.  It  was  this  money  alone  that  would 
ensure  a  welcome  from  the  Warshauers.  Willi  and 
Minna  could  not  be  expected  to  want  her  unless  she 
brought  with  her  enough,  not  only  to  feed  herself,  but 
to  give  them  a  little  help  in  these  hard  times.  But  soon 
she  began  to  feel  more  cheerful.  Mrs.  Otway  and  the 
Dean  would  surely  obtain  permission  for  her  to  take 
her  money  back  to  Germany.  It  was  a  great  deal  of 
money — over  three  hundred  pounds  altogether. 

Within  an  hour  of  her  return  to  the  Trellis  House 
Anna  heard  the  fly  which  had  been  ordered  to  meet 
Mrs.  Otway  at  the  station  drive  into  the  Close.  For 
the  first  time,  the  very  first  time  in  over  eighteen  years, 
'Anna  did  not  long  to  welcome  her  two  ladies  home. 


Good  Old  Anna  303 

Indeed,  her  heart  now  felt  so  hurt  and  sore  that  when 
she  heard  the  familiar  rumble  she  would  have  liked  to 
run  away  and  hide  herself,  instead  of  going  to  the 
front  door. 

And  yet,  when  the  two  came  through  into  the  hall, 
Rose  with  something  of  her  old  happy  look  back  again, 
and  Mrs.  Otway's  face  radiant  as  Anna  had  never  seen 
it  during  all  the  peaceful  years  they  two  had  dwelt  so 
near  to  one  another,  the  poor  old  woman's  heart  soft- 
ened. "Welcome!"  she  said,  in  German.  "Welcome, 
my  dear  mistress,  and  all  happiness  be  yours!" 

And  then,  after  Rose  had  hurried  off  to  Robey's, 
Mrs.  Otway,  while  taking  off  her  things,  and  watching 
Anna  unpack  her  bag,  told  of  Major  Guthrie's  home- 
coming. 

In  simple  words  she  described  the  little  group  of  peo- 
ple— of  mothers,  of  wives,  of  sweethearts  and  of 
friends — who  had  waited  at  the  London  Docks  for  that 
precious  argosy,  the  ship  from  Holland,  to  come  in. 
And  Anna  furtively  wiped  away  her  tears  as  she  heard 
of  the  piteous  case  of  all  those  who  thus  returned  home, 
and  of  the  glowing  joy  of  certain  of  the  reunions  which 
had  then  taken  place.  "  Even  those  who  had  no  friends 
there  to  greet  them — only  kind  strangers — seemed  hap- 
pier than  anyone  I  had  ever  seen. " 

Anna  nodded  understandingly.  So  she  herself  would 
feel,  even  if  maimed  and  blind,  to  be  once  more  in  her 
own  dear  Fatherland.  But  she  kept  her  thoughts  to 
herself.  .  .  . 

At  last,  after  she  had  a  little  supper,  Mrs.  Otway 
came  into  the  kitchen,  and  motioning  to  Anna  to  do 
likewise,  she  sat  down. 


304  Good  Old  Anna 

"Anna  ?"  she  asked  rather  nervously,  "do  you  know 
what  is  going  to  happen  to-morrow  ?" 

Anna  nodded,  and  Mrs.  Otway  went  on,  almost  as 
if  speaking  to  herself  rather  than  to  the  woman  who 
was  now  watching  her  with  strangely  conflicting  feel- 
ings: "It  seems  the  only  thing  to  do.  I  could  not  bear 
for  him  to  go  and  live  alone — even  for  only  a  short 
time — in  that  big  house  where  he  left  his  mother.  But 
it  was  all  settled  very  hurriedly,  partly  by  telephone  to 
the  Deanery. "  She  paused,  for  what  she  felt  to  be  the 
hardest  part  of  her  task  lay  before  her,  and  before  she 
could  go  on,  Anna  spoke. 

"I  think,"  she  said  slowly,  "I  think,  dear  honoured 
lady,  that  it  will  be  best  for  me  to  go  to  Germany,  to 
stay  with  Minna  and  Willi  till  the  War  is  over." 

Mrs.  Otway's  eyes  rilled  with  tears,  yet  she  felt  as  if 
a  load  of  real  anxiety  had  suddenly  been  lifted  from 
her  heart. 

"Perhaps  that  will  be  best,"  she  said.  "But  of  course 
there  is  no  hurry  about  it.  There  will  be  certain  for- 
malities to  go  through,  and  meanwhile "  Again 

she  stopped  speaking  for  a  moment,  then  went  on 
steadily:  "A  friend  of  Major  Outline's — one  of  his 
brother  officers  who  has  just  come  home  from  the 
Front — is  also  to  be  married  to-morrow.  His  name  is 
Captain  Pechell,  and  the  lady  also  is  known  to  Major 
Guthrie ;  her  name'  is  Miss  Trepell.  I  have  arranged 
to  let  the  Trellis  House  to  them  for  six  weeks,  and  I 
have  to  tell  you,  Anna,  that  they  will  bring  their  own 
servants.  Before  I  knew  of  this  new  plan  of  yours,  I 
arranged  for  you  to  go  to  Miss  Forsyth  while  this 
house  is  let.  However,  the  matter  will  now  be  very 
much  simpler  to  arrange,  and  you  will  only  stay  with 


Good  Old  Anna  305 

Miss  Forsyth  till  arrangements  have  been  made  for 
your  comfortable  return  to  Germany." 

The  colour  rushed  to  Anna's  face.  Then  she  was 
being  turned  out — after  all  these  years  of  devoted 
service ! 

Perhaps  something  of  what  Anna  was  feeling  be- 
trayed itself,  for  Mrs.  Otway  went  on,  nervously  and 
conciliatingly :  "I  did  try  to  arrange  for  you  to  go  and 
spend  the  time  with  your  daughter,  but  apparently  they 
will  not  allow  Germans  to  be  transferred  from  one 
town  to  another  without  a  great  deal  of  fuss,  and  I 
knew,  Anna,  that  you  would  not  really  want  to  go  to 
the  Pollits.  I  felt  sure  you  would  rather  stay  in 
Witanbury.  But  if  you  dislike  the  idea  of  going  to 
Miss  Forsyth,  then  I  think  I  can  arrange  for  you  to 

come  out  to  Dorycote "  But  even  as  she  said  the 

words  she  krew  that  such  an  arrangement  would  never 
work. 

"No,  no,"  said  Anna,  in  German.  "It  does  not  mat- 
ter where  I  go  for  a  few  days.  If  I  am  in  Miss  For- 
syth's  house  I  can  see  my  gracious  young  lady  from 
time  to  time.  She  will  ever  be  kind  to  her  poor  old 
nurse. "  And  Mrs.  Otway  could  not  find  it  in  her  heart 
to  tell  Anna  that  Rose  was  also  going  away. 


CHAPTER    XXIX 

A  NNA  stood  peeping  behind  the  pretty  muslin  cur- 
*  *•  tain  of  her  kitchen  window.  She  was  standing  in 
exactly  the  same  place  and  attitude  she  had  stood  in 
eight  months  before,  on  the  first  day  of  war.  But  oh, 
how  different  were  the  sensations  and  the  thoughts 
with  which  she  now  looked  out  on  the  familiar  scene ! 
She  had  then  been  anxious  and  disturbed,  but  not  as 
she  was  disturbed  and  anxious  to-day. 

The  Trellis  House  had  become  so  entirely  her  home 
that  she  resented  bitterly  being  forced  to  leave  it 
against  her  will.  Also,  she  dreaded  the  thought  of  the 
days  she  would  have  to  spend  under  Miss  Forsyth' s 
roof. 

Anna  had  never  liked  Miss  Forsyth.  Miss  Forsyth 
had  a  rather  short,  sharp  way  with  her,  or  so  the  old 
German  woman  considered — and  her  house  was  al- 
ways full  of  such  queer  folk  below  and  above  stairs. 
Just  now  there  was  the  Belgian  family,  and  also,  as 
Anna  had  managed  to  discover,  three  odd-come-shorts 
in  the  kitchen. 

Anna's  general  unease  had  not  been  lessened  by  a 
mysterious  letter  which  she  had  received  from  her 
daughter  this  morning.  In  it  the  writer  hinted  that 
her  husband  was  getting  into  some  fresh  trouble. 
Louisa  had  ended  with  a  very  disturbing  sentence :  "I 
feel  as  if  I  can't  bear  my  life!" — that  was  what  Louisa 
had  written. 

The  minutes  dragged  by,  and  Anna,  staring  out  into 

306 


Good  Old  Anna  307 

the  now  deserted  Close — deserted,  save  for  a  number 
of  carriages  and  motors  which  were  waiting  by  the 
little  gate  leading  into  the  Cathedral  enclosure — be- 
came very  worried  and  impatient. 

From  her  point  of  view  it  was  much  to  be  wished 
that  the  visitor  she  was  expecting  should  be  come  and 
gone  before  the  marriage  party  came  out  of  the  Ca- 
thedral ;  yet  when  she  had  seen  how  surprised,  and  even 
hurt,  both  her  dear  ladies  had  been  on  learning  of  her 
intention  to  stay  at  home  this  morning,  she  had  nearly 
told  them  the  truth !  Everything  was  different  now — 
Willi  would  not,  could  not,  mind ! 

What  had  restrained  her  was  the  memory  of  how 
strongly  Alfred  Head  had  impressed  on  her  the  im- 
portance of  secrecy — of  secrecy  as  concerned  himself. 
If  she  began  telling  anything,  she  might  find  herself 
telling  everything.  Also,  Mrs.  Otway  might  think  it 
very  strange,  what  English  people  call  "sly,"  that  Anna 
had  not  told  her  before. 

And  yet  this  matter  she  had  kept  so  closely  hidden 
within  herself  for  three  years  was  a  very  simple  thing, 
after  all !  Only  the  taking  charge  of  a  number  of  par- 
cels— four,  as  a  matter  of  fact — for  a  gentleman  who 
was  incidentally  one  of  Willi  Warshauer's  chiefs. 

The  person  who  had  brought  them  to  the  Trellis 
House  had  come  in  the  March  of  1912,  and  she  remem- 
bered him  very  distinctly.  He  had  arrived  in  a  motor, 
and  had  only  stayed  a  very  few  minutes.  Anna  would 
have  liked  to  have  given  him  a  little  supper,  but  he  had 
been  in  a  great  hurry,  and  in  fact  had  hardly  spoken 
to  her  at  all. 

From  something  which  he  had  said  when  himself 
carefully  bringing  the  parcels  through  the  kitchen  into 


308  Good  Old  Anna 

her  bedroom,  and  also  from  a  word  Willi  had  let  fall, 
she  knew  that  .what  had  been  left  with  her  was  con- 
nected with  some  new,  secret  process  in  the  chemical 
business.  In  that  special  branch  of  trade,  as  Anna  was 
aware,  the  Germans  were  far,  far  ahead  of  the  British. 
And  as  she  stood  there  by  the  window,  waiting, 
staring  across  the  now  deserted  green,  at  the  group  of 
carriages  which  stood  over  near  the  gate  leading  to 
the  Cathedral,  she  began  to  wonder  uneasily  if  she  had 
made  it  quite  clear  to  Mr.  Head  that  the  man  who  was 
coming  on  this  still  secret  business  must  be  sure  to 
come  to-day!  The  lady  and  gentleman  to  whom  the 
house  had  been  let  were  arriving  at  six,  and  their  maids 
two  hours  before. 

Suddenly  the  bells  rang  out  a  joyous  peal,  and  Anna 
felt  a  thrill  of  exasperation  and  sharp  regret.  If  she 
had  known  that  her  visitor  would  be  late,  then  she,  too, 
could  have  been  present  in  the  Cathedral.  It  had  been 
a  bitter  disappointment  to  her  not  to  see  her  gracious 
lady  married  to  Major  Guthrie. 

Letting  the  curtain  fall,  she  went  quickly  upstairs 
into  what  had  been  Miss  Rose's  bedroom.  From  there 
she  knew  she  could  get  a  better  view. 

Yes,  there  they  all  were — streaming  out  of  the  great 
porch.  She  could  now  see  the  bride  and  bridegroom, 
arm-in-arm,  walking  down  the  path.  They  were  walk- 
ing more  slowly  than  most  newly  married  couples 
walked  after  a  wedding.  As  a  rule,  wedding  parties 
hurried  rather  quickly  across  the  open  space  leading 
from  the  porch  to  the  gate. 

She  lost  sight  of  them  while  they  were  getting  into 
the  motor  which  had  been  lent  to  them  for  the  occasion, 


Good  Old  Anna  309 

but  she  did  catch  a  glimpse  of  Mrs.  Otway's  flushed 
face  as  the  car  sped  along  to  the  left,  towards  the  gate 
house. 

The  path  round  the  green  was  gradually  filling  up 
with  people,  for  the  congregation  had  been  far  larger 
than  anyone  had  thought  it  would  be.  News  in  such  a 
place  as  Witanbury  spreads  quickly,  and  though  the 
number  of  invited  guests  had  been  very,  very  few,  the 
number  of  uninvited  sympathisers  and  interested  spec- 
tators had  been  many. 

Suddenly  Anna  caught  sight  of  her  young  lady  and 
of  Mr.  Jervis  Blake.  As  she  did  so  the  tears  welled 
up  into  her  eyes,  and  rolled  down  her  cheeks.  She 
could  never  get  used  to  the  sight  of  this  young  bride- 
groom with  his  crutch,  and  that  though  he  managed  it 
very  cleverly,  and  would  soon — so  Rose  had  declared—- 
be able  to  do  with  only  a  stick. 

Anna  hoped  that  the  two  would  come  in  and  see  her 
for  a  minute,  but  instead  they  joined  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Robey,  and  were  now  walking  round  the  other  side  of 
the  Close. 

Anna  went  downstairs  again.  In  a  moment,  Mr. 
Hayley,  whom  she  had  never  liked,  and  who  she  felt 
sure  did  not  like  her,  would  be  coming  in  to  have  his 
luncheon,  with  another  gentleman  from  London. 

Yes,  there  was  the  ring.  She  went  to  the  front  door 
and  opened  it  with  an  unsmiling  face.  The  two  young 
men  walked  through  into  the  hall.  It  would  have  been 
very  easy  for  James  Hayley  to  have  said  a  kind  word 
to  the  old  German  woman  he  had  known  so  long,  but  it 
did  not  occur  to  him  to  do  so ;  had  anyone  suggested  it, 
he  would  certainly  have  done  it. 

"We've  plenty  of  time,"  she  heard  him  say  to  the 


3io  Good  Old  Anna 

other  gentleman.  "Your  train  doesn't  go  till  two 
o'clock.  As  for  me,  I'm  very  hungry !  I  made  a  very 
early  start,  you  know!"  and  he  led  his  guest  into  the 
dining-room,  calling  out  as  he  did  so:  "It's  all  right, 
Anna !  We  can  wait  on  ourselves. " 

Anna  went  back  into  her  kitchen.  She  reminded 
herself  that  Mr.  Hayley  was  one  of  those  gentlemen 
who  give  a  great  deal  of  trouble  and  never  a  tip — un- 
less, that  is,  they  are  absolutely  forced  to  do  so  by 
common  custom. 

In  Germany  a  gentleman  who  was  always  lunching 
and  dining  at  a  house  would,  by  that  common  custom, 
have  been  compelled  to  tip  the  servants — not  so  in  this 
hospitable  but  foolish,  ill-regulated  England.  Here 
people  only  tip  when  they  sleep.  Anna  had  always 
thought  it  an  extremely  unfair  arrangement.  Now 
Major  Guthrie,  though  he  was  an  Englishman,  had 
lived  enough  in  Germany  to  know  what  was  right  and 
usual,  and  several  times,  in  the  last  few  years,  he  had 
presented  Anna  with  half  a  sovereign.  This  had  nat- 
urally made  her  like  him  more  than  she  would  other- 
wise have  done. 

There  came  another  ring  at  the  door.  This  time  it 
was  Miss  Forsyth,  and  there  was  quite  a  kindly  smile 
on  her  face.  "Well,"  she  said,  "well,  Mrs.  Bauer?" 
(she  had  never  been  as  familiar  with  Anna  as  were 
most  of  Mrs.  Otway's  friends).  "I  have  come  to  find 

something  for  Mrs.  Ot I  mean  Mrs.  Guthrie. 

She  has  given  me  the  key  of  her  desk."  And  she  went 
through  into  the  drawing-room. 

Anna  began  moving  about  restlessly.  Her  tin  trunk 
was  packed,  and  all  ready  to  be  moved  to  Miss  For- 


Good  Old  Anna  311 

syth's.  And  Mrs.  Otway,  busy  as  she  had  been  and 
absorbed  in  her  own  affairs  while  in  town,  had  yet  re- 
membered to  stipulate  that  one  of  the  large  cupboards 
in  Anna's  bedroom  should  remain  locked,  and  full  of 
Anna's  things. 

It  was  now  nearly  one  o'clock.  What  could  have 
happened  to  her  business  visitor?  And  then,  just  as 
she  was  thinking  this  for  the  hundredth  time,  she  heard 
the  unmistakable  sound  of  a  motor  coming  slowly 
down  the  road  outside.  Quickly  she  went  out  to  the 
back  door. 

The  motor  was  a  small,  low,  open  car,  and  without 
surprise  she  saw  that  the  man  who  now  was  getting 
out  of  it  was  the  same  person  whom  she  had  seen  in 
the  autumn  leaving  Alfred  Head's  house.  But  this 
time  there  was  no  Boy  Scout — the  stranger  was  alone. 

He  hurried  towards  her.  "Am  I  speaking  to  Mrs. 
Bauer?"  he  asked,  in  a  sharp,  quick  tone.  And  then, 
as  she  said  "Yes,"  and  dropped  a  little  curtsey,  he  went 
on :  "I  had  a  breakdown — a  most  tiresome  thing!  But 
I  suppose  it  makes  no  difference  ?  You  have  the  house 
to  yourself?" 

She  hesitated — was  she  bound  to  tell  him  of  the  two 
gentlemen  who  were  having  their  luncheon  in  the 
dining-room  which  overlooked  the  garden,  and  of  Miss 
Forsyth  in  the  drawing-room  ?  She  decided  that  no — 
she  was  not  obliged  to  tell  him  anything  of  the  sort.  If 
she  did,  he  might  want  to  go  away  and  come  back  an- 
other time.  Then  everything  would  have  to  be  begun 
over  again. 

"The  parcels  all  ready  are,"  she  said.  "Shall  I  them 
bring?" 

"No,  no !    I  will  come  with  you.    We  will  make  two 


312  Good  Old  Anna 

journeys,  each  taking  one.  That  will  make  the  busi- 
ness less  long. " 

He  followed  her  through  the  kitchen,  the  scullery, 
and  so  into  her  bedroom. 

There  were  two  corded  tin  boxes,  as  well  as  a  num- 
ber of  other  packages,  standing  ready  for  removal. 

"Surely  I  have  not  to  take  all  this  away?"  he  ex- 
claimed. "I  thought  there  were  only  four  small  par- 
cels!" 

Anna  smiled.  "Most  of  it  my  luggage  is,"  she  said. 
"These  yours  are "  she  pointed  to  four  peculiar- 
shaped  packages,  which  might  have  been  old-fashioned 
bandboxes.  They  were  done  up  in  grey  paper,  the  kind 
grocers  use,  and  stoutly  corded.  Through  each  cord 
was  fixed  a  small  strong,  iron  handle.  "They  very 
heavy  are,"  observed  Anna  thoughtfully. 

And  the  man  muttered  something — it  sounded  like 
an  oath.  "I  think  you  had  better  leave  the  moving  of 
them  to  me,"  he  said.  "Stand  aside,  will  you  ?" 

He  took  up  two  of  them ;  then  once  more  uttered  an 
exclamation,  and  let  them  gently  down  again.  "I  shall 
have  to  take  one  at  a  time,"  he  said.  "I'm  not  an  over- 
strong  man,  Mrs.  Bauer,  and  as  you  seem  to  have  man- 
aged to  move  them,  no  doubt  you  can  help  me  with 
this  one." 

Anna,  perhaps  because  her  nerves  were  somewhat  on 
edge  to-day,  resented  the  stranger's  manner.  It  was 
so  short,  so  rude,  and  he  had  such  a  funny  accent.  Yet 
she  felt  sure,  in  spite  of  the  excellent  German  she  had 
overheard  him  speak  to  Mr.  Head,  that  he  was  not  a 
fellow-countryman  of  hers.  Then,  suddenly,  looking 
at  his  queerly  trimmed  beard,  she  told  herself  that  he 
might  be  an  American.  Alfred  Head  had  lived  for  a 


Good  Old  Anna  313 

long  time  in  America,  and  this  probably  was  one  of 
his  American  friends. 

After  they  had  taken  out  two  of  the  parcels  and 
placed  them  at  the  back  of  the  motor,  Anna  suddenly 
bethought  herself  of  what  Alfred  Head  had  said  to 
her.  "Give  me,  please,"  she  said,  "the  money  which 
to  me  since  January  ist  owing  has  been.  Fifty  shill- 
ings— two  pound  ten  it  is." 

"I  know  nothing  of  that,"  said  the  man  curtly.  "I 
have  had  no  instructions  to  pay  you  any  money,  Mrs. 
Bauer." 

Anna  felt  a  rush  of  anger  come  over  her.  She  was 
not  afraid  of  this  weasel- faced  little  man.  "Then  the 
other  two  parcels  take  away  you  will  not,"  she  ex- 
claimed. "To  that  money  a  right  I  have!" 

They  were  facing  each  other  in  the  low-ceilinged, 
dim,  badly-lit  bedroom.  The  stranger  grew  very  red. 

"Look  here!"  he  said  conciliatingly ;  he  was  really 
in  a  great  hurry  to  get  away.  "I  promise  to  send  you 
this  money  to-night,  Mrs.  Bauer.  You  can  trust  me. 
I  have  not  got  it  on  me,  truly.  You  may  search  me  if 
you  like. "  He  smiled  a  little  nervously,  and  advancing 
towards  her  opened  his  big  motor  coat. 

Anna  shrank  back.  "You  truly  send  it  will?"  she 
asked  doubtfully. 

"I  will  send  it  to  Hegner  for  you.    Nay,  more 

I  will  give  you  a  piece  of  paper,  and  then  Hegner  will 
pay  you  at  once."  He  tore  a  page  out  of  his  pocket- 
book,  and  scribbled  on  it  a  few  words. 

She  took  the  bit  of  paper,  folded  it,  and  put  it  in  her 
purse. 

As  they  were  conveying  the  third  oddly-shaped  par- 
cel through  the  kitchen,  she  said  conciliatingly,  "Curi- 


314  Good  Old  Anna 

ous  it  is  to  have  charge  of  luggage  so  long  and  not 
exactly  what  it  is  to  know !" 

He  made  no  answer  to  this  remark.  But  suddenly, 
in  a  startled,  suppressed  whisper,  he  exclaimed,  "  Who's 
that?" 

Anna  looked  round.    "Eh?"  she  said. 

"You  told  me  there  was  no  one  in  the  house,  but 
someone  has  just  come  out  of  the  gate,  and  is  standing 
by  my  motor!"  He  added  sternly,  "Was  heisst  das?" 
(What  does  this  mean?) 

Anna  hurried  to  the  window  and  looked  through  the 
muslin  curtain  hanging  in  front  of  it.  Yes,  the 
stranger  had  spoken  truly.  There  was  Mr.  Hayley, 
standing  between  the  little  motor-car  and  the  back 
door. 

"Do  not  yourself  worry,"  she  said  quickly.  "It  is 
only  a  gentleman  who  luncheon  here  has  eaten.  Go 
out  and  explain  to  him  everything  I  will. " 

But  the  man  had  turned  a  greenish-white  colour. 
"How  d'you  mean  'explain'?"  he  said  roughly,  in 
English. 

"Explain  that  they  are  things  of  mine — luggage — 
that  taking  away  you  are,"  said  Anna. 

The  old  woman  could  not  imagine  why  the  stranger 
showed  such  agitation.  Mr.  Hayley  had  no  kind  of 
right  to  interfere  with  her  and  her  concerns,  and  she 
had  no  fear  that  he  would  do  so. 

"If  you  are  so  sure  you  can  make  it  all  right,"  the 
man  whispered  low  in  German,  "I  will  leave  the  house 
by  some  other  way — there  is  surely  some  back  way  of 
leaving  the  house?  I  will  walk  away,  and  stop  at  Heg- 
ner's  till  I  know  the  coast  is  clear. " 

"There  is  no  back  way  out,"  whispered  Anna,  also 


Good  Old  Anna  315 

in  German.  She  was  beginning  to  feel  vaguely  alarmed. 
"But  no  one  can  stop  you.  Walk  straight  out,  while  I 
stay  and  explain.  I  can  make  it  all  right." 

In  a  gingerly  way  he  moved  to  one  side  the  heavy 
object  he  had  been  carrying,  and  then,  as  if  taking 
shelter  behind  her,  he  followed  the  old  woman  out 
through  the  door. 

"What's  this  you're  taking  out  of  the  house,  Anna?" 
Mr.  Hayley's  tone  was  not  very  pleasant.  "You 
mustn't  mind  my  asking  you.  My  aunt,  as  you  know, 
told  me  to  remain  here  to-day  to  look  after  things. " 

"Only  my  luggage  it  is,"  stammered  Anna.  "I  had 
hoped  to  have  cleared  out  my  room  while  the  wedding 
in  progress  was. " 

"Your  luggage?"  repeated  James  Hay  ley  uncom- 
fortably. He  was  now  feeling  rather  foolish,  and  it 
was  to  him  a  very  disturbing  because  an  unusual  sen- 
sation. 

"Yes,  my  luggage,"  repeated  Anna.  "And  this" — 
she  hesitated  a  moment — "this  person  here  is  going  to 
look  for  a  man  to  help  carry  out  my  heavy  boxes. 
There  are  two.  He  cannot  manage  them  himself." 

James  Hayley  looked  surprised,  but  to  her  great 
relief,  he  allowed  the  stranger  to  slip  by,  and  Anna  for 
a  moment  watched  the  little  man  walking  off  at  a  smart 
pace  towards  the  gate  house.  She  wondered  how  she 
could  manage  to  send  him  a  message  when  the  tire- 
some, inquisitive  Mr.  Hayley  had  gone. 

"But  whose  motor  is  that?"  Mr.  Hayley  went  on,  in 
a  puzzled  tone.  "You  must  forgive  me  for  asking  you, 
Anna,  but  you  know  we  live  in  odd  times."  He  had 
followed  her  into  the  kitchen,  and  was  now  standing 
there  with  her.  As  she  made  no  answer,  he  suddenly 


316  Good  Old  Anna 

espied  the  odd-looking  parcel  which  stood  close  to  bis 
feet,  where  the  stranger  had  put  it  down. 

Mr.  Hayley  stooped,  really  with  the  innocent  inten- 
tion of  moving  the  parcel  out  of  the  way.  "Good  gra- 
cious!" he  cried.  "This  is  a  tremendous  weight,  Anna. 
What  on  earth  have  you  got  in  there?"  He  was  now 
dragging  it  along  the  floor. 

"Don't  do  that,  sir,"  she  exclaimed  involuntarily. 
"It's  fragile." 

"Fragile?"  he  repeated.  "Nonsense!  It  must  be 
iron  or  copper.  What  is  it,  Anna?" 

She  shook  her  head  helplessly.  "I  do  not  know.  It 
is  something  I  have  been  keeping  for  a  friend. " 

His  face  changed.  He  took  a  penknife  out  of  his 
pocket,  and  ripped  off  the  stout  paper  covering. 

Then,  before  the  astonished  Anna  could  make  a 
movement,  he  very  quietly  pinioned  her  elbows  and 
walked  her  towards  the  door  giving  into  the  hall. 

"Captain  Joddrell?"  he  called  out.  And  with  a  be- 
wildered feeling  of  abject  fear,  Anna  heard  the  quick 
steps  of  the  soldier  echoing  down  the  hall. 

"Yes;  what  is  it?" 

"I  want  your  help  over  something." 

They  were  now  in  the  hall,  and  Miss  Forsyth,  stand- 
ing in  the  doorway  of  the  drawing-room,  called  out 
suddenly,  "Oh,  Mr.  Hayley,  you  are  hurting  her!" 

"No,  I'm  not.    Will  you  please  lock  the  front  door?" 

Then  he  let  go  of  Anna's  arms.  He  came  round 
and  gazed  for  a  moment  into  her  terrified  face.  There 
was  a  dreadful  look  of  contempt  and  loathing  in  his 
eyes.  "You'd  better  say  nothing,"  he  muttered.  "Any- 
thing you  say  now  may  be  used  in  evidence  against 
you!" 


Good  Old  Anna  317 

He  drew  the  other  man  aside  and  whispered  some- 
thing ;  then  they  came  back  to  where  Anna  stood,  and 
she  felt  herself  pushed — not  exactly  roughly,  but  cer- 
tainly very  firmly — by  the  two  gentlemen  into  the  room 
where  were  the  remains  of  the  good  cold  luncheon 
which  she  had  set  out  there  some  two  hours  before. 

She  heard  the  key  turned  on  her,  and  then  a  quick 
colloquy  outside.  She  heard  Mr.  Hayley  exclaim, 
"Now  we'd  better  telephone  to  the  police."  And  then, 
a  moment  later :  "But  the  telephone's  gone !  What  an 
extraordinary  thing!  This  becomes,  as  in  'Alice  in 

Wonderland,'  curiouser  and  curiouser "  There 

was  a  tone  of  rising  excitement  in  his  quiet,  rather 
mincing  voice.  Then  came  the  words,  "Look  here! 
You'd  better  go  outside  and  see  that  no  one  comes  near 
that  motor  car,  while  I  hurry  along  to  the  place  they 
call  'Robey's.'  There's  sure  to  be  a  telephone  there." 

Anna  felt  her  legs  giving  way,  and  a  sensation  of 
most  horrible  fear  came  over  her.  She  bitterly  re- 
pented now  that  she  had  not  told  Mr.  Hayley  the  truth 
— that  these  parcels  which  she  had  now  kept  for  three 
years  were  only  harmless  chemicals,  connected  with  an 
invention  which  was  going  to  make  the  fortune  of  a 
great  many  people,  including  her  nephew,  Willi  War- 
shauer,  once  this  terrible  war  was  over. 

The  police?  Anna  had  a  great  fear  of  the  police, 
and  that  though  she  knew  herself  to  be  absolutely  inno- 
cent of  any  wrong-doing.  She  felt  sure  that  the  fact 
that  she  was  German  would  cause  suspicion.  The 
worst  would  be  believed  of  her.  She  remembered  with 
dismay  the  letter  some  wicked,  spiteful  person  had 
written  to  her  mistress — and  then,  with  infinite  com- 
fort, she  suddenly  remembered  that  this  same  dear  mis- 


318  Good  Old  Anna 

tress  was  only  a  little  over  two  miles  off.  She,  Anna, 
would  not  wish  to  disturb  her  on  her  wedding  day,  but 
if  very  hard  pressed  she  could  always  do  so.  And  Miss 
Rose — Miss  Rose  and  Mr.  Blake — they  too  were  close 
by ;  they  certainly  would  take  her  part ! 

She  sat  down,  still  sadly  frightened,  but  reassured 
by  the  comfortable  knowledge  that  her  dear,  gracious 
ladies  would  see  her  through  any  trouble,  however 
much  the  fact  that  her  country  was  at  war  with  Eng- 
land might  prejudice  the  police  against  her. 


CHAPTER    XXX 

IT  was  late  afternoon  in  the  same  day,  a  bright, 
sunny  golden  afternoon,  more  like  a  warm  May  day 
than  a  day  in  March. 

The  bride  and  bridegroom,  each  feeling  more  than  a 
little  shy,  had  enjoyed  their  late  luncheon,  the  first 
they  had  ever  taken  alone  together.  And  Major  Guth- 
rie  had  been  perhaps  rather  absurdly  touched  to  learn, 
from  a  word  dropped  by  Howse,  that  the  new  mis- 
tress had  herself  carefully  arranged  that  this  first  meal 
should  consist  of  dishes  which  Howse  had  told  her  his 
master  particularly  liked.  And  as  they  sat  there,  side 
by  side,  in  their  pleasant  dining-room — for  he  had  not 
cared  to  take  the  head  of  the  table — the  bridegroom 
hoped  his  bride  would  never  know  that  since  his  blind- 
ness he  had  retained  very  little  sense  of  taste. 

After  luncheon  they  had  gone  out  into  the  garden, 
and  she  had  guided  his  footsteps  along  every  once  fa- 
miliar path.  Considering  how  long  he  had  been  away, 
everything  was  in  very  fair  order,  and  she  was  sur- 
prised to  find  how  keen  he  was  about  everything.  He 
seemed  to  know  every  shrub  and  plant  there,  and  she 
felt  as  if  in  that  hour  he  taught  her  more  of  practical 
gardening  than  she  had  ever  known. 

And  then,  at  last,  they  made  their  way  to  the  avenue 
which  was  the  chief  glory  of  the  domain,  and  which 
had  certainly  been  there  in  the  days  when  the  house 
had  stood  in  a  park,  before  the  village  of  which  it  was 

319 


320  Good  Old  Anna 

the  Manor  had  grown  to  be  something  like  a  suburb  of 
Witanbury. 

There  they  had  paced  up  and  down,  talking  of  many 
things;  and  it  was  he  who,  suggesting  that  she  must 
be  tired,  at  last  made  her  sit  down  on  the  broad  wooden 
bench,  from  where  she  could  see  without  being  seen 
the  long,  low  house  and  wide  lawn. 

They  both,  in  their  very  different  ways,  felt  exquis- 
itely at  peace.  To  his  proud,  reticent  nature,  the  last 
few  days  had  proved  disagreeable — sometimes  acutely 
unpleasant.  He  had  felt  grateful  for,  but  he  had  not 
enjoyed,  the  marks  of  sympathy  which  had  been  so 
freely  lavished  on  him  and  on  his  companions  in  Hol- 
land, on  the  boat,  and  since  his  landing  in  England. 

In  those  old  days  which  now  seemed  to  have  be- 
longed to  another  existence,  Major  Guthrie  had 
thought  his  friend,  Mrs.  Otway,  if  wonderfully  kind, 
not  always  very  tactful.  It  is  a  mistake  to  think  that 
love  is  blind  as  to  those  matters.  But  of  all  the  kind 
women  he  had  seen  since  he  had  left  Germany,  she  was 
the  only  one  who  had  not  spoken  to  him  of  his  blind- 
ness, who  had  made  no  allusion  to  it,  and  who  had  not 
pressed  on  him  painful,  unsought  sympathy.  From 
the  moment  they  had  been  left  alone  for  a  little  while 
in  that  unknown  London  house,  where  he  had  first 
been  taken,  she  had  made  him  feel  that  he  was  indeed 
the  natural  protector  and  helper  of  the  woman  he 
loved ;  and  of  the  things  she  had  said  to  him,  in  those 
first  moments  of  emotion,  what  had  touched  and 
pleased  him  most  was  her  artless  cry,  "Oh,  you  don't 
know  how  I  have  missed  you!  Even  quite  at  first  I 
felt  so  miserable  without  you !" 

It  was  Rose  who  had  suggested  an  immediate  mar- 


Good  Old  Anna  321 

riage;  Rose  who  had — well,  yes,  there  was  no  other 
word  for  it — coaxed  them  both  into  realizing  that  it 
was  the  only  thing  to  do. 

Even  now,  on  this  their  wedding  day,  they  felt  awk- 
ward, and  yes,  very  shy  the  one  with  the  other.  And 
as  he  sat  there  by  her  side,  wearing  a  rough  grey  suit 
he  had  often  worn  last  winter  when  calling  on  her  in 
the  Trellis  House,  her  cheeks  grew  hot  when  she  re- 
membered the  letter  she  had  written  to  him.  Perhaps 
he  had  thought  it  an  absurdly  sentimental  letter  for  a 
woman  of  her  age  to  write. 

The  only  thing  that  reassured  her  was  the  fact  that 
once,  at  luncheon,  he  had  clasped  her  hand  under  the 
table;  but  the  door  had  opened,  and  quickly  he  had 
taken  his  hand  away,  and  even  moved  his  chair  a  little 
farther  off.  It  was  true  that  Howse  had  put  the  chairs 
very  close  together. 

Now  she  was  telling  him  of  all  that  had  happened 
since  he  had  gone  away,  and  he  was  listening  with  the 
eager  sympathy  and  interest  he  had  always  shown  her, 
that  no  one  else  had  ever  shown  her  in  the  same  de- 
gree, in  those  days  that  now  seemed  so  long  ago,  before 
the  War. 

So  she  went  on,  pouring  it  all  out  to  him,  till  she 
came  to  the  amazing  story  of  her  daughter  Rose,  and 
of  Jervis  Blake.  She  described  the  strange,  moving 
little  marriage  ceremony;  and  the  man  sitting  by  her 
side  sought  and  found  the  soft  hand  which  was  very 
close  to  his,  and  said  feelingly,  "That  must  have  been 
very  trying  for  you" 

Yes,  it  had  been  trying  for  her,  though  no  one  had 
seemed  to  think  so  at  the  time.  But  he,  the  speaker  of 


322  Good  Old  Anna 

these  kind  understanding  words,  had  always  known 
how  she  felt,  and  sympathised  with  her. 

She  wished  he  would  call  her  "Mary" — if  only  he 
would  begin,  she  would  soon  find  it  quite  easy  to  call 
him"Alick.  .  .  ." 

Suddenly  there  came  on  his  sightless  face  a  slight 
change.  He  had  heard  something  which  her  duller 
ears  had  failed  to  hear. 

"What's  that?"  he  asked  uneasily. 

"It's  only  a  motor-car  coming  round  to  the  front 
door.  I  hope  they  will  send  whoever  it  is  away,"  the 
colour  rushed  into  her  face. 

"Oh,  surely  Howse  will  do  that  to-day 

And  then  she  saw  the  man-servant  come  out  of  the 
house  and  advance  towards  them.  There  was  a  salver 
in  his  hand,  and  on  the  salvar  a  note. 

"The  gentleman  who  brought  this  is  waiting,  ma'am, 
to  see  you. " 

She  took  up  the  envelope  and  glanced  down  at  it. 
Her  new  name  looked  so  odd  in  Dr.  Haworth's  famil- 
iar writing — it  evoked  a  woman  who  had  been  so  very 
different  from  herself,  and  yet  for  whom  she  now  felt 
a  curious  kind  of  retrospective  tenderness. 

She  opened  the  note  with  curiosity. 

"DEAR  MRS.  GUTHRIE, 

"The  bearer  of  this,  Mr.  Reynolds  of  the  Home 
Office,  will  explain  to  you  why  we  are  anxious  that  you 
should  come  into  Witanbury  for  an  hour  this  after- 
noon. I  am  sure  Major  Guthrie  would  willingly  spare 
you  if  he  knew  how  very  important  and  how  delicate  is 
the  business  in  question.  Please  tell  him  that  we  will 


Good  Old  Anna  323 

keep  you  as  short  a  time  as  possible.     In  fact,  it  is 
quite  probable  that  you  will  be  back  within  an  hour. 

"Very  truly  yours, 

"EDMUND  HAWORTH." 

She  looked  down  at  the  letter  with  feelings  of  sur- 
prise and  of  annoyance.  Uncaring  of  Howse's  discreet 
presence,  she  read  it  aloud.  "It's  very  mysterious  and 
queer,  isn't  it?  But  I'm  afraid  I  shall  have  to  go." 

"Yes,  of  course  you  will.  It  would  have  been  better 
under  the  circumstances  for  the  Dean  to  have  told  you 
what  they  want  to  see  you  about." 

In  the  old  days,  Major  Guthrie  had  never  shared 
Mrs.  Otway's  admiration  for  Dr.  Haworth,  and  now 
he  felt  rather  sharply  disturbed.  The  Home  Office? 
The  words  bore  a  more  ominous  sound  to  him  than 
they  did,  fortunately,  to  her.  Was  it  possible  that  she 
had  been  communicating,  in  secret,  with  some  of  her 
German  friends?  He  rose  from  the  bench  on  which 
they  had  been  sitting :  "Is  the  gentleman  in  the  motor, 
Howse?" 

"Yes,  sir.    He  wouldn't  come  in." 

"Go  and  tell  him  that  we  are  coming  at  once." 

And  then,  after  a  moment,  he  said  quietly,  "I'm 
coming,  too." 

"Oh,  but "  she  exclaimed. 

"I  don't  choose  to  have  my  wife's  presence  com- 
manded by  the  Dean  of  Witanbury,  or  even,  if  it  comes 
to  that,  by  the  Home  Office." 

She  seized  his  arm,  and  pressed  close  to  him.  "I  do 
believe,"  she  cried,  "that  you  suspect  me  of  having  got 
into  a  scrape!  Indeed,  indeed  I  have  done  nothing!" 
She  was  smiling,  though  moved  almost  to  tears  by  the 


324  Good  Old  Anna 

way  he  had  just  spoken.  It  was  a  new  thing  to  her  to 
be  taken  care  of,  to  feel  that  there  was  someone  ready, 
aye,  determined,  to  protect  her,  and  take  her  part. 
Also,  it  was  the  first  time  he  had  called  her  his  wife. 

A  few  minutes  later  they  were  sitting  side  by  side 
in  a  large,  open  motor-car.  Mr.  Reynolds  was  a  pleas- 
ant, good-looking  man  of  about  thirty,  and  he  had  in- 
sisted on  giving  up  his  seat  to  Major  Guthrie.  There 
would  have  been  plenty  of  room  for  the  three  of  them 
leaning  back,  but  he  had  preferred  to  sit  opposite  to 
them,  and  now  he  was  looking,  with  a  good  deal  of 
sympathy,  interest,  and  respect  at  the  blind  soldier,  and 
with  equal  interest,  but  with  less  liking  and  respect,  at 
Major  Guthrie's  wife. 

Mr.  Reynolds  disliked  pro-Germans  and  spy-maniacs 
with  almost  equal  fervour;  his  work  brought  him  in 
contact  with  both.  From  what  he  had  been  able  to 
learn,  the  lady  sitting  opposite  to  him  was  to  be  num- 
bered among  the  first  category. 

"And  now,"  said  Major  Guthrie,  leaning  his  sight- 
less face  forward,  "will  you  kindly  inform  me  for  what 
reason  my  wife  has  been  summoned  to  Witanbury  this 
afternoon?  The  Dean's  letter — I  do  not  know  if  you 
have  read  it — is  expressed  in  rather  mysterious  and 
alarming  language." 

The  man  he  addressed  waited  for  a  moment.  He 
knew  that  the  two  people  before  him  had  only  been 
married  that  morning. 

"Yes,  that  is  so,"  he  said  frankly.  "I  suppose  the 
Dean  thought  it  best  that  I  should  inform  Mrs.  Guth- 
rie of  the  business  which  brought  me  to  Witanbury 
three  hours  ago.  It  chanced  that  I  was  in  the  neigh- 


Good  Old  Anna  325 

bourhood,  so  when  the  Witanbury  police  telephoned  to 
London,  I,  being  known  to  be  close  here,  was  asked  to 
go  over." 

"The  police?"  repeated  both  his  hearers  together. 

"Yes,  for  I'm  sorry  to  tell  you" — he  looked  search- 
ingly  at  the  lady  as  he  spoke — "I'm  sorry  to  tell  you, 
Mrs.  Guthrie,  that  a  considerable  number  of  bombs 
have  been  found  in  your  house.  I  believe  it  to  be  the 
fact  that  you  hold  the  lease  of  the  Trellis  House  in 
Witanbury  Close?" 

She  looked  at  him  too  much  surprised  and  too  much 
bewildered  to  speak.  Then,  "Bombs?"  she  echoed  in- 
credulously. "There  must  be  some  mistake!  There 
has  never  been  any  gunpowder  in  my  possession.  I 
might  almost  go  so  far  as  to  say  that  I  have  never  seen 
a  gun  or  a  pistol  at  close  quarters " 

She  felt  a  hand  groping  towards  her,  and  at  last  find 
and  cover  in  a  tight  grip  her  fingers.  "You  do  not  fire 
bombs  from  a  gun  or  from  a  pistol,  my  dearest." 
There  was  a  great  tenderness  in  Major  Gutnrie's  voice. 

Even  in  the  midst  of  her  surprise  and  disarray  at  the 
extraordinary  thing  she  had  just  heard,  Mrs.  Guthrie 
blushed  so  deeply  that  Mr.  Reynolds  noticed  it,  and 
felt  rather  puzzled.  He  told  himself  that  she  was  a 
younger  woman  than  he  had  at  first  taken  her  to  be. 

In  a  very  different  tone  Major  Guthrie  next  ad- 
dressed the  man  he  knew  to  be  sitting  opposite  to  him  : 
"May  I  ask  how  and  where  and  when  bombs  were 
found  in  the  Trellis  House?"  To  himself  he  was  say- 
ing, with  anguished  iteration,  "Oh,  God,  if  only  I 
could  see!  Oh,  God,  if  only  I  could  see!"  But  he 
spoke,  if  sternly,  yet  in  a  quiet,  courteous  tone,  his 
hand  still  clasping  closely  that  of  his  wife. 


326  Good  Old  Anna 

"They  were  found  this  morning  within  half  an  hour, 
I  understand,  of  your  wedding.  And  it  was  only  ow- 
ing to  the  quickness  of  a  lady  named  Miss  Forsyth — 
assisted,  I  am  bound  to  say,  by  Mr.  Hayley  of  the  For- 
eign Office,  who  is,  I  believe,  a  relation  of  Mrs.  Guth- 
rie — that  they  were  found  at  all.  The  man  who  came 
to  fetch  them  away  did  get  off  scot  free — luckily  leav- 
ing them,  and  his  motor,  behind  him." 

"The  man  who  came  to  fetch  them  away?"  The 
woman  sitting  opposite  to  the  speaker  repeated  the 
words  in  a  wondering  tone — then,  very  decidedly, 
"There  has  been  some  extraordinary  mistake!"  she  ex- 
claimed. "I  know  every  inch  of  my  house,  and  so  I 
can  assure  you" — she  bent  forward  a  little  in  her  ear- 
nestness and  excitement — "I  can  assure  you  that  it's 
quite  impossible  that  there  was  anything  of  the  sort  in 
the  Trellis  House  without  my  knowing  it!" 

"Did  you  ever  go  into  your  servant's  bedroom?" 
asked  Mr.  Reynolds  quietly. 

Major  Guthrie  felt  the  hand  he  was  holding  in  his 
suddenly  tremble,  and  his  wife  made  a  nervous  move- 
ment, as  if  she  wanted  to  draw  it  away  from  his  pro- 
tecting grasp. 

A  feeling  of  terror — of  sheer,  unreasoning  terror — 
had  swept  over  her.  Anna? 

"No,"  she  faltered,  but  her  voice  was  woefully 
changed.  "No,  I  never  had  occasion  to  go  into  my  old 

servant's  bedroom.  But  oh,  I  cannot  believe "  and 

then  she  stopped.  She  had  remembered  Anna's  curi- 
ous unwillingness  to  leave  the  Trellis  House  this  morn- 
ing, even  to  attend  her  beloved  mistress's  wedding. 
She,  and  Rose  too,  had  been  hurt,  and  had  shown  that 
they  were  hurt,  at  old  Anna's  obstinacy. 


Good  Old  Anna  327 

"We  have  reason  to  suppose,"  said  Mr.  Reynolds 
slowly,  "that  the  explosives  in  question  have  been 
stored  for  some  considerable  time  in  a  large  roomy 
cupboard  which  is  situated  behind  your  servant's  bed. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  man  who  had  come  to  fetch 
them  away  was  already  under  observation  by  the  po- 
lice. He  has  spent  all  the  winter  in  a  village  not  far 
from  Southampton,  and  he  is  registered  as  a  Spaniard, 
though  he  came  to  England  from  America  just  before 
the  War  broke  out.  Of  course,  these  facts  have  only 
just  come  to  my  knowledge.  But  both  this  Miss  For- 
syth  and  your  cousin,  Mr.  Hayley,  declare  that  they 
have  long  suspected  your  servant  of  being  a  spy." 

"Suspected  my  servant?  Suspected  Anna  Bauer?" 
repeated  Mrs.  Guthrie,  in  a  bewildered  tone. 

"Then  you,"  went  on  Mr.  Reynolds,  "have  never 
suspected  her  at  all,  Mrs.  Guthrie  ?  I  understand  that 
but  for  the  accidental  fact  that  Witanbury  is  just,  so 
to  speak,  over  the  border  of  the  prohibited  area  for 
aliens,  she  would  have  had  to  leave  you?" 

"Yes,  I  know  that.  But  she  has  been  with  me 
nearly  twenty  years,  and  I  regarded  her  as  being  to 
all  intents  and  purposes  an  Englishwoman." 

"Did  you  really?"  he  observed  drily. 

"Her  daughter  is  married  to  an  Englishman." 

Mr.  Reynolds,  in  answer  to  that  statement,  remained 
silent,  but  a  very  peculiar  expression  came  over  his 
face.  It  was  an  expression  which  would  perchance 
have  given  a  clue  to  Major  Guthrie  had  Major  Guth- 
rie been  able  to  see. 

Mrs.  Guthrie's  face  had  gone  grey  with  pain  and 
fear;  her  eyes  had  filled  with  tears,  which  were  now 
rolling  down  her  cheeks.  She  looked  indeed  different 


328  Good  Old  Anna 

from  the  still  pretty,  happy,  charming-looking  woman 
who  had  stepped  into  the  car  a  few  minutes  ago. 
"I  should  not  have  ventured  to  disturb  you  to-day — 

to-morrow  would  have  been  quite  time  enough " 

said  Mr.  Reynolds,  speaking  this  time  really  kindly, 
"were  it  not  that  we  attach  the  very  greatest  impor- 
tance to  discovering  whether  this  woman,  your  ex- 
servant,  forms  part  of  a  widespread  conspiracy.  We 
suspect  that  she  does.  But  she  is  in  such  a  state  of  pre- 
tended or  real  agitation — in  fact,  she  seems  almost  dis- 
traught— that  none  of  us  can  get  anything  out  of  her. 
I  myself  have  questioned  her  both  in  English  and  in 
German.  All  she  keeps  repeating  is  that  she  is  inno- 
cent, quite  innocent,  and  that  she  was  unaware  of  the 
nature  of  the  goods — she  describes  them  always  as 
goods,  when  she  speaks  in  English — that  she  was  har- 
bouring in  your  house.  She  declares  she  knows  noth- 
ing about  the  man  who  came  for  them,  though  that  is 
false  on  the  face  of  it,  for  she  was  evidently  expecting 
him.  We  think  that  he  has  terrorised  her.  She  even 
refuses  to  say  where  she  obtained  these  'goods'  of  hers, 
or  how  long  she  has  had  them.  You  see,  we  have  rea- 
son to  believe" — he  slightly  lowered  his  voice  in  the 
rushing  wind — "we  have  reason  to  believe,"  he  re- 
peated, "that  the  Germans  may  be  going  to  try  their 
famous  plan  of  invasion  within  the  next  few  days.  If 
so,  it  is  clear  that  these  bombs  were  meant  to  play  a 
certain  part  in  the  business,  and  thus  it  is  extremely  im- 
portant that  we  should  know  if  there  are  any  further 
stores  of  them  in  or  about  Witanbury." 


CHAPTER    XXXI 

'  I  A  HEY  were  now  in  the  streets  of  the  cathedral 
•*•  city,  and  Mrs.  Guthrie,  agitated  though  she  was, 
could  see  that  there  was  a  curious  air  of  animation  and 
bustle.  A  great  many  people  were  out  of  doors  on  this 
late  March  afternoon. 

As  a  matter  of  fact  something  of  the  facts,  greatly 
exaggerated  as  is  always  the  way,  had  leaked  out,  and 
the  whole  city  was  in  a  ferment. 

Slowly  the  motor  made  its  way  round  the  Market 
Place  to  the  Council  House,  and  as  it  drew  up  at  the 
bottom  of  the  steps,  a  crowd  of  idlers  surged  forward. 

There  was  a  minute  or  two  of  waiting,  then  a  man 
whom  Mrs.  Guthrie  knew  to  be  the  head  inspector  of 
the  local  police  came  forward,  with  a  very  grave  face, 
and  helped  her  out  of  the  car.  He  wished  to  hurry 
her  up  the  steps  out  of  the  way  of  the  people  there,  but 
she  heard  her  husband's  voice,  "Mary,  where  are  you?" 
and  obediently  she  turned  with  an  eager,  "Here  I  am, 
waiting  for  you!"  She  took  his  arm,  and  he  pressed 
it  reassuringly.  She  was  glad  he  could  not  see  the  in- 
quisitive faces  of  the  now  swelling  crowd  which  were 
being  but  ill  kept  back  by  the  few  local  police. 

But  her  ordeal  did  not  last  long ;  in  a  very  few  mo- 
ments they  were  safe  in  the  Council  House,  and  Mr. 
Reynolds,  who  already  knew  his  way  about  there,  had 
shown  them  into  a  stately  room  where  hung  the  por- 
traits of  certain  long  dead  Witanbury  worthies. 

329 


330  Good  Old  Anna 

"Am  I  going  to  see  Anna  now?"  asked  Mrs.  Guthrie 
nervously. 

"Yes,  I  must  ask  you  to  do  that  as  soon  as  possible. 
And,  Mrs.  Guthrie?  Please  remember  that  all  we 
want  to  know  now  are  two  definite  facts.  The  first  of 
these  is  how  long  she  has  had  these  bombs  in  her  pos- 
session, and  how  she  procured  them?  She  may  pos- 
sibly be  willing  to  tell  you  how  long  she  has  had  them, 
even  if  she  still  remains  obstinately  silent  as  to  where 
she  got  them.  The  second  question,  and  of  course 
much  the  more  important  from  our  point  of  view,  is 
whether  she  knows  of  any  other  similar  stores  in 
Witanbury  or  elsewhere?  That,  I  need  hardly  tell 
you,  is  of  very  vital  moment  to  us,  and  I  appeal  to  you 
as  an  Englishwoman  to  help  us  in  the  matter." 

"I  will  do  as  you  wish,"  said  Mrs.  Guthrie  in  a  low 
voice.  "But,  Mr.  Reynolds?  Please  forgive  me  for 
asking  you  one  thing.  What  will  be  done  to  my  poor 
old  Anna?  Will  the  fact  that  she  is  a  German  make 
it  better  for  her — or  worse  ?  Of  course  I  realise  that 
she  has  been  wicked — very,  very  wicked  if  what  you 
say  is  true " 

"And  most  treacherous  to  you!"  interposed  the 
young  man  quickly.  "You  don't  seem  to  realise,  Mrs. 
Guthrie,  the  danger  in  which  she  put  you;"  and  as  she 
looked  at  him  uncomprehendingly,  he  went  on,  "Put- 
ting everything  else  aside,  she  ran  the  most  appalling 
danger  of  killing  you — you  and  every  member  of  your 
household.  Of  course  I  don't  know  what  you  mean  to 

say  to  her "  he  hesitated.  "I  understand  that  your 

relations  with  her  have  been  much  closer  and  more 
kindly  than  are  often  those  between  a  servant  and  her 
employer,"  and  as  she  nodded,  he  went  on :  "The  Dean 


Good  Old  Anna  33 l 

was  afraid  that  it  would  give  you  a  terrible  shock — in 
fact,  he  himself  seems  extremely  surprised  and  dis- 
tressed; he  had  evidently  quite  a  personal  feeling  of 
affection  and  respect  for  this  old  German  woman, 
Anna  Bauer!" 

"And  I  am  sure  that  if  you  had  known  her  you 
would  have  had  it  too,  Mr.  Reynolds,"  she  answered 
naively.  Somehow  the  fact  that  the  Dean  had  taken 
this  strange  and  dreadful  thing  as  he  had  done,  made 
her  feel  less  miserable. 

"Ah!  One  thing  more  before  I  take  you  to  her. 
Anything  incriminating  she  may  say  to  you  will  not  be 
brought  as  evidence  against  her.  The  point  you  have 
to  remember  is  that  it  is  vitally  important  to  us  to  ob- 
tain information  as  to  this  local  spy  conspiracy  or  sys- 
tem, to  which  we  believe  we  already  hold  certain  clues." 

The  police  cell  into  which  Mrs.  Guthrie  was  intro- 
duced was  in  the  half-basement  of  the  ancient  Council 
House.  The  wralls  of  the  cell  were  whitewashed  with 
a  peculiar,  dusty  whitewash  that  came  off  upon  the 
occupant's  clothes  at  the  slightest  touch.  There  was  a 
bench  fixed  to  the  wall,  and  in  a  corner  a  bed,  also  fixed 
to  the  ground.  A  little  light  came  in  from  the  window 
high  out  of  reach,  and  in  the  middle  of  the  ceiling  hung 
a  disused  gas  bracket. 

Those  of  Anna  Bauer's  personal  possessions  she  had 
been  allowed  to  bring  with  her  were  lying  on  the  bed. 

The  old  woman  was  sitting  on  the  bench,  her  head 
bowed  in  an  abandonment  of  stupor,  and  of  misery. 
She  did  not  even  move  as  the  door  opened.  But  when 
she  heard  the  kind,  familiar  voice  exclaim,  "Anna? 
My  poor  old  Anna ! — it  is  terrible  to  find  you  here,  like 


332  Good  Old  Anna 

this!"  she  drew  a  convulsive  breath  of  relief,  and  lifted 
her  tear-stained,  swollen  face. 

"I  am  innocent!"  she  cried  wildly,  in  German.  "Oh, 
gracious  lady,  I  am  innocent !  I  have  done  no  wrong. 
I  can  accuse  myself  of  no  sin." 

Mr.  Reynolds  brought  in  a  chair.  Then  he  went  out, 
and  quietly  closed  the  door. 

Anna's  mistress  came  and  sat  on  the  bench  close  to 
her  servant.  It  was  almost  as  if  an  unconscious 
woman,  spent  with  the  extremity  of  physical  suffering, 
crouched  beside  her. 

"Anna,  listen  to  me !"  she  said  at  last,  and  there  was 
a  touch  of  salutary  command  in  her  voice — a  touch  of 
command  that  poor  Anna  knew,  and  always  responded 
to,  though  it  was  very  seldom  used  towards  her.  "I 
have  left  Major  Guthrie  on  our  marriage  day  in  order 
to  try  and  help  you  in  this  awful  disgrace  and  trouble 
you  have  brought,  not  only  on  yourself,  but  on  me. 
All  I  ask  you  to  do  is  to  tell  me  the  truth.  Anna  ?"- 
she  touched  the  fat  arm  close  to  her — "look  up,  and 
talk  to  me  like  a  reasonable  woman.  If  you  are  inno- 
cent, if  you  can  accuse  yourself  of  no  sin — then  why 
are  you  in  such  a  state?" 

Anna  looked  up  eagerly.  She  was  feeling  much 
better  now. 

"Every  reason  have  I  in  a  state  to  be !  A  respectable 
woman  to  such  a  place  brought !  Roughly  by  two  po- 
licemen treated.  I  nothing  did  that  ashamed  of  I  am !" 

"What  is  it  you  did  do?"  said  Mrs.  Guthrie  patiently. 
"Try  and  collect  your  thoughts,  Anna.  Explain  to 
me  where  you  got" — she  hesitated  painfully — "where 
you  got  the  bombs." 


Good  Old  Anna  333 

"No  bombs  there  were,"  exclaimed  Anna  confidently. 
"Chemicals,  yes — bombs,  no." 

"You  are  mistaken,  Anna,"  said  Mrs.  Guthrie 
quietly.  She  rose  from  the  bench  on  which  she  had 
been  sitting,  and  drew  up  the  chair  opposite  to  Anna. 
"There  were  certainly  bombs  found  in  your  room.  It 
is  a  mercy  they  did  not  explode;  if  they  had  done,  we 
should  all  have  been  killed!" 

Anna  stared  at  her  in  dumb  astonishment.  "Herr 
Gott!"  she  exclaimed.  "No  one  has  told  me  that,  gra- 
cious lady.  Again  and  again  they  have  asked  me  ques- 
tions they  should  not — questions  I  to  answer  promised 
not.  To  you,  speak  I  will ' 

Anna  looked  round,  as  if  to  satisfy  herself  that  they 
were  indeed  alone,  and  Mrs.  Guthrie  suddenly  grew 
afraid.  Was  poor  old  Anna  going  to  reveal  something 
of  a  very  serious  self-incriminating  kind? 

"It  was  Willi!"  exclaimed  the  old  woman  at  last. 
She  now  spoke  in  a  whisper,  and  in  German.  "It  was 
to  Willi  that  I  gave  my  promise  to  say  nothing.  You 
see,  gracious  lady,  it  was  a  friend  of  Willi's  who  was 
making  a  chemical  invention.  It  was  he  who  left  these 
goods  with  me.  I  will  now  confess" — she  began  to 
sob  bitterly — "I  will  now  confess  that  I  did  keep  it  a 
secret  from  the  gracious  lady  that  these  parcels  had 
been  confided  to  me.  But  the  bedroom  was  mine.  You 
know,  gracious  lady,  how  often  you  said  to  me,  'I 
should  have  liked  you  to  have  a  nicer  bedroom,  Anna — 
but  still,  it  is  your  room,  so  I  hope  you  make  it  as  com- 
fortable as  you  can.'  As  it  was  my  room,  gracious 
lady,  it  concerned  no  one  what  I  kept  there." 

"A  friend  of  Willi's?"  repeated  Mrs.  Guthrie  incred- 
ulously. "But  I  don't  understand — Willi  is  in  Berlin. 


334  Good  Old  Anna 

Surely  you  have  not  seen  Willi  since  you  went  to  Ger- 
many three  years  ago?" 

"No,  indeed  not.  But  he  told  me  about  this  matter 
when  he  took  me  to  the  station.  He  said  that  a  friend 
would  call  on  me  some  time  after  my  return  here,  and 
that  to  keep  these  goods  would  be  to  my  advan- 
tage  "  she  stopped  awkwardly. 

"You  mean,"  said  Mrs.  Guthrie  slowly,  "that  you 
were  paid  for  keeping  these  things,  Anna?"  Some- 
how she  felt  a  strange  sinking  of  the  heart. 

"Yes,"  Anna  spoke  in  a  shamed,  embarrassed  tone. 
"Yes,  that  is  quite  true.  I  was  given  a  little  present 
each  year.  But  it  was  no  one's  business  but  mine." 

"And  how  long  did  you  have  them?"  Mrs.  Guthrie 
had  remembered  suddenly  that  that  was  an  important 
point. 

Anna  waited  a  moment,  but  she  was  only  counting. 
"Exactly  three  years,"  she  answered.  "Three  years 
this  month." 

Mrs.  Guthrie  also  made  a  rapid  calculation.  "You 
mean  that  they  were  brought  to  the  Trellis  House  in 
the  March  of  1912?" 

Anna  nodded.  "Yes,  gracious  lady.  When  you  and 
Miss  Rose  were  in  London.  Do  you  remember?" 

The  other  shook  her  head. 

Anna  felt  almost  cheerful  now.  She  had  told  the 
whole  truth,  and  her  gracious  lady  did  not  seem  so 
very  angry  after  all. 

"They  were  brought,"  she  went  on  eagerly,  "by 
a  very  nice  gentleman.  He  asked  me  for  a  safe  place 
to  keep  them,  and  I  showed  him  the  cupboard  behind 
my  bed.  He  helped  me  to  bring  them  in." 


Good  Old  Anna  335 

"Was  that  the  man  who  came  for  them  this  morn- 
ing?" asked  Mrs.  Gnthrie. 

Anna  shook  her  head.  "Oh  no!"  she  exclaimed. 
"The  other  gentleman  was  a  gentleman.  He  wrote 
me  a  letter  first,  but  when  he  came  he  asked  me  to 
give  it  him  back.  So  of  course  I  did  so." 

"Did  he  give  you  any  idea  of  what  he  had  brought 
you  to  keep?"  asked  Mrs.  Guthrie.  "Now,  Anna,  I 
beg — I  implore  you  to  tell  me  the  truth!" 

"The  truth  will  I  willingly  tell!"  Yes,  Anna  was 
feeling  really  better  now.  She  had  confessed  the 
one  thing  which  had  always  been  on  her  conscience — 
her  deceit  towards  her  kind  mistress.  "He  said  they 
were  chemicals,  a  new  wonderful  invention,  which  I 
must  take  great  care  of  as  they  were  fragile." 

"I  suppose  he  was  a  German?"  said  Mrs.  Guthrie 
slowly. 

"Yes,  he  was  a  German,  naturally,  being  the  su- 
perior of  Willi.  But  the  man  who  came  to-day  was 
no  German." 

"And  during  all  that  time — three  years  is  a  long 
time,  Anna — did  you  never  hear  from  him?"  asked 
Mrs.  Guthrie  slowly. 

It  had  suddenly  come  over  her  with  a  feeling  of 
repugnance  and  pain,  that  old  Anna  had  kept  her 
secret  very  closely. 

"I  never  heard — no,  never,  till  last  night,"  cried  the 
old  woman  eagerly. 

"But  even  now,"  said  Mrs.  Guthrie,  "I  can't  under- 
stand, Anna,  what  made  you  do  it.  Was  it  to  please 
Willi?" 

"Yes,"  said  Anna  in  an  embarrassed  tone.  "It  was 
to  please  my  good  nephew,  gracious  lady." 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

AND  now,"  said  Mrs.  Guthrie,  looking  at  the  little 
group  of  people  who  sat  round  her  in  the  Council 
Chamber,  "and  now  I  have  told  you,  almost  I  think 
word  for  word,  everything  my  poor  old  Anna  told 
me." 

As  Mr.  Reynolds  remained  silent,  she  added,  with 
a  touch  of  defiance,  "And  I  am  quite,  quite  sure  that 
she  told  me  the  truth!" 

Her  eyes  instinctively  sought  the  Dean's  face.  Yes, 
there  she  found  sympathy, — sympathy  and  belief.  It 
was  impossible  to  tell  what  her  husband  was  thinking. 
His  face  was  not  altered — it  was  set  in  stern  lines  of 
discomfort  and  endurance.  The  Government  official 
looked  sceptical. 

"I  have  no  doubt  that  the  woman  has  told  you  a 
good  deal  of  the  truth,  Mrs.  Guthrie,  but  I  do  not 
think  she  has  told  you  all  the  truth,  or  the  most  im- 
portant part  of  it.  According  to  your  belief,  she  ac- 
cepted this  very  strange  deposit  without  the  smallest 
suspicion  of  the  truth.  Now,  is  it  conceivable  that  an 
intelligent,  sensible,  elderly  woman  of  the  kind  she  has 
been  described  to  me,  could  be  such  a  fool?" 

And  then,  for  the  first  time  since  his  wife  had 
returned  there  from  her  interview  with  Anna,  Major 
Guthrie  intervened. 

"I  think  you  forget,  Mr.  Reynolds,  that  this  took 
place  long  before  the  war.  In  fact,  if  I  may  recall 
certain  dates  to  your  memory,  this  must  have  been  a 

336 


Good  Old  Anna  337 

little  tiny  cog  in  the  machine  which  Germany  began 
fashioning  after  the  Agadir  crisis.  It  was  that  very 
autumn  that  Anna  Bauer  went  to  visit  her  nephew 
and  niece  in  Berlin,  and  it  was  soon  after  she  came 
back  that,  according  to  her  story,  a  stranger,  with 
some  kind  of  introduction  from  her  nephew,  who  is, 
I  believe,  connected  with  the  German  police " 

"Is  he  indeed?"  exclaimed  Mr.  Reynolds.  "You 
never  told  me  that!"  he  looked  at  Mrs.  Guthrie. 

"Didn't  I  ?"  she  said.  "Yes,  it's  quite  true,  Wilhelm 
Warshauer  is  a  sub-inspector  of  police  in  Berlin.  But 
I  feel  sure  he  is  a  perfectly  respectable  man." 

She  fortunately  did  not  see  the  expression  which 
flashed  across  her  questioner's  face.  Not  so  the  Dean. 
Mr.  Reynolds'  look  stirred  Dr.  Harworth  to  a  certain 
indignation.  He  had  known  Anna  Bauer  as  long  as 
her  mistress  had,  and  he  had  become  quite  fond  of  the 
poor  old  woman  with  whom  he  had  so  often  exchanged 
pleasant  greetings  in  German. 

"Look  here!"  he  began,  in  a  pleasant,  persuasive 
voice.  "I  have  a  suggestion  to  make,  Mr.  Reynolds. 
We  have  here  in  Witanbury  a  most  excellent  fellow, 
one  of  our  city  councillors.  He  is  of  German  birth, 
but  was  naturalised  long  ago.  As  I  expect  you  know, 
there  was  a  little  riot  here  last  week,  and  this  man — 
Alfred  Head  is  his  name — had  all  his  windows  broken. 
He  refused  to  prosecute,  and  behaved  with  the  greatest 
sense  and  dignity.  Now  I  suggest  that  we  set  Alfred 
Head  on  to  old  Anna  Bauer !  I  believe  she  would  tell 
him  things  that  she  would  not  even  tell  her  very  kind 
and  considerate  mistress.  I  feel  sure  that  he  would 
find  out  the  real  truth.  As  a  matter  of  fact  I  met  him 
just  now  when  I  was  coming  down  here.  He  was  full 


338  Good  Old  Anna 

of  regret  and  concern,  and  he  spoke  very  kindly  and 
very  sensibly  of  this  poor  old  woman.  He  said  he 
knew  her — that  she  was  a  friend  of  his  wife's,  and  he 
asked  me  if  he  could  be  of  any  assistance  to  her." 

Thinking  he  saw  a  trace  of  hesitation  on  the  London 
official's  face,  he  added,  "After  all,  such  an  interview 
could  do  no  harm,  and  might  do  good.  Yes,  I  strongly 
do  advise  that  we  take  Alfred  Head  into  our  counsels, 
and  explain  to  him  exactly  what  it  is  we  wish  to 
know." 

"I  am  quite  sure,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Guthrie  impul- 
sively, "that  Anna  would  not  tell  him  any  more  than 
she  told  me.  I  am  convinced,  not  only  that  she  told 
me  the  truth,  but  that  she  told  me  nothing  but  the 
truth — I  don't  believe  she  kept  anything  back!" 

Mr.  Reynolds  looked  straight  at  the  speaker  of  these 
impetuous  words.  He  smiled.  It  was  a  kindly,  albeit 
a  satiric  smile.  He  was  getting  quite  fond  of  Mrs. 
Guthrie!  And  though  his  duties  often  brought  him 
in  contact  with  strange  and  unusual  little  groups  of 
people,  this  was  the  first  time  he  had  ever  had  to  bring 
into  his  official  work  a  bride  on  her  wedding  day. 
This  was  the  first  time  also  that  a  dean  had  ever  been 
mixed  up  in  any  of  the  difficult  and  dangerous  affairs 
with  which  he  was  now  concerned.  It  was,  too,  the 
first  time  that  he  had  been  brought  into  personal  con- 
tact with  one  of  his  own  countrymen  "broken  in  the 
war." 

"I  hope  that  you  are  right,"  he  said  soothingly. 
"Still,  as  Mr.  Dean  kindly  suggests,  it  may  be  worth 
while  allowing  this  man — Head  is  his  name,  is  it? — to 
see  the  woman.  It  generally  happens  that  a  person  of 
the  class  to  which  Anna  Bauer  belongs  will  talk  much 


Good  Old  Anna  339 

more  freely  to  some  one  of  their  own  sort  than  to  an 
employer,  however  kind.  In  fact,  it  often  happens 
that  after  having  remained  quite  silent  and  refused 
to  say  anything  to,  say,  a  solicitor,  such  a  person 
will  come  out  with  the  whole  truth  to  an  old  friend, 
or  to  a  relation.  We  will  hope  that  this  will  be  the 
case  this  time.  And  now  I  don't  think  that  we  need 
detain  you  and  Major  Guthrie  any  longer.  Of  course 
you  shall  be  kept  fully  informed  of  any  develop- 
ments." 

"If  there  is  any  question,  as  I  suppose  there  will 
be,  of  Anna  Bauer  being  sent  for  trial,"  said  Major 
Guthrie,  "then  I  should  wish,  Mr.  Reynolds,  that  my 
own  solicitor  undertakes  her  defence.  My  wife  feels 
that  she  is  under  a  great  debt  of  gratitude  to  this 
German  woman.  Anna  has  not  only  been  her  servant 
for  over  eighteen  years,  but  she  was  nurse  to  Mrs. 
Guthrie's  only  child.  We  neither  of  us  feel  in  the  least 
inclined  to  abandon  Anna  Bauer  because  of  what  has 
happened.  I  also  wish  to  associate  myself  very 
strongly  with  what  Mrs.  Guthrie  said  just  now.  I 
believe  the  woman  to  be  substantially  innocent,  and  I 
think  she  has  almost  certainly  told  my  wife  the  truth, 
as  far  as  she  knows  it." 

He  held  out  his  hand,  and  the  other  man  grasped 
it  warmly.  Then  Mr.  Reynolds  shook  hands  with  Mrs. 
Guthrie.  She  looked  happy  now — happy  if  a  little 
tearful.  "I  hope,"  he  said  eagerly,  "that  you  will 
make  use  of  my  car  to  take  you  home." 

Somehow  he  felt  interested  in,  and  drawn  to,  this 
middle-aged  couple.  He  was  quite  sorry  to  know 
that,  after  to-day,  he  would  probably  never  see  them 
again.  The  type  of  man  who  is  engaged  in  the  sort 


340  Good  Old  Anna 

of  work  which  Mr.  Reynolds  was  now  doing  for  his 
country  has  to  be  very  human  underneath  his  cloak 
of  official  reserve,  or  he  would  not  be  able  to  carry 
out  his  often  delicate,  as  well  as  difficult,  duties. 

He  followed  them  outside  the  Council  House. 
Clouds  had  gathered,  and  it  was  beginning  to  rain, 
so  he  ordered  his  car  to  be  closed. 

"Mr.  Reynolds,"  cried  Mrs.  Guthrie  suddenly,  "you 
won't  let  them  be  too  unkind  to  my  poor  old  Anna, 
will  you?" 

"Indeed,  no  one  will  be  unkind  to  her,"  he  said. 
"She's  only  been  a  tool  after  all — poor  old  woman. 
No  doubt  there  will  be  a  deportation  order,  and  she 
will  be  sent  back  to  Germany." 

"Remember  that  you  are  to  draw  on  me  if  any 
money  is  required  on  her  behalf,"  cried  out  Major 
Guthrie,  fixing  his  sightless  eyes  on  the  place  where 
he  supposed  the  other  man  to  be. 

"Yes,  yes — I  quite  understand  that!  But  we've 
found  out  that  the  old  woman  has  plenty  of  money. 
It  is  one  of  the  things  that  make  us  believe  that  she 
knows  more  than  she  pretends  to  do." 

He  waved  his  hand  as  they  drove  off.  Somehow 
he  felt  a  better  man,  a  better  Englishman,  for  having 
met  these  two  people. 

There  was  very  little  light  in  the  closed  motor,  but 
if  it  had  been  open  for  all  the  world  to  see,  Mary 
Guthrie  would  not  have  minded,  so  happy,  so  secure 
did  she  feel  now  that  her  husband's  arm  was  round 
her. 

She  put  up  her  face  close  to  his  ear :    "Oh,  Alick," 


Good  Old  Anna  341 

she  whispered,  "I  am  afraid  that  you've  married  a 
very  foolish  woman " 

He  turned  and  drew  her  into  his  strong  arms. 
"I've  married  the  sweetest,  the  most  generous,  and — 
and,  Mary,  the  dearest  of  women." 

"At  any  rate  you  can  always  say  to  yourself,  'A 
poor  thing,  but  mine  own — '  "  she  said,  half  laughing, 
half  crying.  And  then  their  lips  met  and  clung  to- 
gether, for  the  first  time. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

MR.  REYNOLDS  walked  back  up  the  steps  of 
the  Council  House  of  Witanbury.  He  felt  as  if 
he  had  just  had  a  pleasant  glimpse  of  that  Kingdom 
of  Romance  which  so  many  seek  and  so  few  find, 
and  that  now  he  was  returning  into  the  everyday 
world.  Sure  enough,  when  he  reached  the  Council 
Chamber,  he  found  Dr.  Harworth  there  with  a  prosaic- 
looking  person.  This  was  evidently  the  man  to  whom 
the  Dean  thought  Anna  would  be  more  likely  to  reveal 
the  truth  than  to  her  kind,  impulsive  employer. 

Mr.  Reynolds  had  not  expected  to  see  so  intelligent 
and  young-looking  a  man.  He  was  familiar  with  the 
type  of  German  who  has  for  long  made  his  career 
in  England.  But  this  naturalised  German  was  not 
true  to  type  at  all!  Though  probably  over  fifty,  he 
still  had  an  alert,  active  figure,  and  he  was  extraor- 
dinarily like  someone  Mr.  Reynolds  had  seen.  In 
fact,  for  a  few  moments  the  likeness  quite  haunted 
him.  Who  on  earth  could  it  be  that  this  man  so 
strongly  resembled?  But  soon  he  gave  up  the  like- 
ness as  a  bad  job — it  didn't  matter,  after  all ! 

"Well,  Mr.  Head,  I  expect  that  Dr.  Harworth  has 
already  told  you  what  it  is  we  hope  from  you." 

"Yes,  sir,  I  think  I  understand." 

"Are  you  an  American?"  asked  the  other  abruptly. 

The  Witanbury  City  Councillor  looked  slightly  em- 
barrassed. "No,"  he  said  at  last.  "But  I  was  in  the 
United  States  for  some  years." 

342 


Good  Old  Anna  343 

"You  were  never  connected,  I  suppose,  with  the 
New  York  Police?" 

"Oh  no,  sir!"  There  was  no  mistaking  the  man's 
genuine  surprise  at  the  question. 

"I  only  asked  you,"  said  Mr.  Reynolds  hastily,  "be- 
cause I  feel  as  if  we  had  met  before.  But  I  suppose 
I  made  a  mistake.  By  the  way,  do  you  know  Anna 
Bauer  well?" 

Alfred  Head  waited  a  moment;  he  looked  instinc- 
tively to  the  Dean  for  guidance,  but  the  Dean  made 
no  sign. 

"I  know  Anna  Bauer  pretty  well,"  he  said  at  last. 
"But  she's  more  a  friend  of  my  wife  than  of  mine. 
She  used  sometimes  to  come  and  spend  the  evening 
with  us." 

He  was  feeling  exceedingly  uncomfortable.  Had 
Anna  mentioned  him?  He  thought  not.  He  hoped 
not.  "What  is  it  exactly  you  want  me  to  get  out  of 
her?"  he  asked,  cringingly. 

Mr.  Reynolds  hesitated.  Somehow  he  did  not  at 
all  like  the  man  standing  before  him.  Shortly  he  ex- 
plained how  much  the  old  woman  had  already  ad- 
mitted; and  then,  "Perhaps  you  could  ascertain 
whether  she  has  received  any  money  since  the  out- 
break of  war,  and  if  so,  by  what  method.  I  may  tell 
you  in  confidence,  Mr.  Head,  there  has  been  a  good 
deal  of  German  money  going  about  in  this  part  of 
the  world.  We  hold  certain  clues,  but  up  to  the  pres- 
ent time  we  have  not  been  able  to  trace  this  money  to 
its  source." 

"I  think  I  quite  understand  what  it  is  you  require 
to  know,  sir,"  said  Alfred  Head  respectfully. 

There  came  a  knock  at  the  door.     "Mr.  Reynolds 


344  Good  Old  Anna 

in  there?  You  are  wanted,  sir,  on  the  telephone.  A 
London  call  from  Scotland  Yard." 

"All  right,"  he  said  quietly.  "Tell  them  they  must 
wait  a  moment.  Will  you  please  take  Mr.  Head  to 
the  cell  where  Anna  Bauer  is  confined?" 

Then  he  hurried  off  to  the  telephone,  well  aware 
that  he  might  now  be  about  to  hear  the  real  solution 
of  the  mystery.  Some  of  his  best  people  had  been  a 
long  time  on  this  Witanbury  job. 

Terrified  and  bewildered  as  she  had  been  by  the 
events  of  midday,  Anna,  when  putting  her  few  things 
together,  had  not  forgotten  her  work.  True,  she  had 
been  too  much  agitated  and  upset  to  crochet  or  knit 
during  the  long  hours  which  had  elapsed  since  the 
morning.  But  the  conversation  she  had  had  with 
her  mistress  had  reassured  her.  How  good  that  dear, 
gracious  lady  had  been !  How  kindly  she  had  accepted 
the  confession  of  deceit! 

Yes,  but  it  was  very,  very  wrong  of  her,  Anna 
Bauer,  to  have  done  what  she  had  done.  She  knew 
that  now.  What  was  the  money  she  had  earned — a 
few  paltry  pounds — compared  with  all  this  fearful 
trouble?  Still,  she  felt  now  sure  the  trouble  would 
soon  be  over.  She  had  a  pathetic  faith,  not  only  in 
her  mistress,  but  also  in  Mrs.  Jervis  Blake  and  in  the 
Dean.  They  would  see  her  through  this  strange, 
shameful  business.  So  she  took  her  workbag  off  the 
bed,  and  brought  out  her  crochet. 

She  had  just  begun  working  when  she  heard  the 
door  open,  and  there  came  across  her  face  a  sudden 
look  of  apprehension.  She  was  weary  of  being  ques- 
tioned, and  of  parrying  questions.  But  now  she  had 


Good  Old  Anna  345 

told  all  she  knew.  There  was  great  comfort  in  that 
thought. 

Her  face  cleared,  became  quite  cheerful  and  smiling, 
when  she  saw  Alfred  Head.  He,  too,  was  a  kind 
friend ;  he,  too,  would  help  her  as  much  as  he  could — 
if  indeed  any  more  help  were  needed.  But  the  Dean 
and  her  own  lady  would  certainly  be  far  more  power- 
ful than  Alfred  Head. 

Poor  Old  Anna  was  not  in  a  condition  to  be  very 
observant.  She  did  not  see  that  there  was  anything 
but  a  cordial  expression  on  her  friend's  face,  and  that 
he  looked  indeed  very  stern  and  disagreeable. 

The  door  was  soon  shut  behind  him,  and  instead  of 
advancing  with  hand  outstretched,  he  crossed  his  arms 
and  looked  own  at  her,  silently,  for  a  few  moments. 

At  last,  speaking  between  his  teeth,  and  in  German, 
he  exclaimed,  "This  is  a  pretty  state  of  things,  Frau 
Bauer.  You  have  made  more  trouble  than  you  know !" 

She  stared  up  at  him,  uncomprehendingly.  "I  don't 
understand,"  she  faltered.  "I  did  nothing.  What  do 
you  mean?" 

"I  mean  that  you  have  brought  us  all  within  sight 
of  the  gallows.  Yourself  quite  as  much  as  your 
friends." 

"The  gallows?"  exclaimed  old  Anna,  in  an  agitated 

whisper.  "Explain  yourself,  Mr.  Head "  She  was 

trembling  now.  "What  is  it  you  mean?" 

"I  do  not  know  what  it  is  you  have  told,"  he  spoke 
in  a  less  savage  tone.  "And  I  know  as  a  matter  of 
fact  that  there  is  very  little  you  could  say,  for  you 
have  been  kept  in  the  dark.  But  one  thing  I  may  tell 
you.  If  you  say  one  word,  Frau  Bauer,  of  where  you 
received  your  blood  money  just  after  the  War  broke 


346  Good  Old  Anna 

out,  then  I,  too,  will  say  what  /  know.  If  I  do  that, 
instead  of  being  deported — that  is,  instead  of  being 
sent  comfortably  back  to  Berlin,  to  your  niece  and 
her  husband,  who  surely  will  look  after  you  and  make 
your  old  age  comfortable — then  I  swear  to  you  before 
God  that  you  will  hang!" 

"Hang?    But  I  have  done  nothing!" 

Anna  was  now  almost  in  a  state  of  collapse,  and  he 
saw  his  mistake. 

"You  are  in  no  real  danger  at  all  if  you  will  only 
do  exactly  what  I  tell  you,"  he  declared,  impressively. 

"Yes,"  she  faltered.  "Yes,  Herr  Hegner,  indeed 
I  will  obey  you." 

He  looked  round  him  hastily.  "Never,  never  call 
me  that !"  he  exclaimed.  "And  now  listen  quite  quietly 
to  what  I  have  to  say.  Remember  you  are  in  no 
danger — no  danger  at  all — if  you  follow  my  orders." 

She  looked  at  him  dumbly. 

"You  are  to  say  that  the  parcels  came  to  you  from 
your  nephew  in  Germany.  It  will  do  him  no  harm. 
The  English  police  cannot  reach  him." 

"But  I've  already  said,"  she  confessed,  distractedly, 
"that  they  were  brought  to  me  by  a  friend  of  his." 

"It  is  a  pity  you  said  that,  but  it  does  not  much 
matter.  The  one  thing  you  must  conceal  at  all  hazards 
is  that  you  received  any  money  from  me.  Do  you 
understand  that,  Frau  Bauer?  Have  you  said  any- 
thing of  that?" 

"No,"  she  said  slowly.  "No,  I  have  said  nothing 
of  that." 

He  fancied  there  was  a  look  of  hesitation  on  her 
face.  As  a  matter  of  fact  we  know  that  Anna  had 
not  betrayed  Alfred  Head.  But  that  she  had  not  done 


Good  Old  Anna  347 

so  was  an  accident,  only  caused  by  her  unwillingness 
to  dwell  on  the  money  she  had  received  when  telling 
her  story  to  Mrs.  Guthrie. 

The  old  woman  turned  a  mottled  red  and  yellow 
colour,  in  the  poor  light  of  the  cell. 

"Please  try  and  remember,"  he  said  sternly,  "if  you 
mentioned  me  at  all." 

"I  swear  I  did  not!"  she  cried. 

"Did  you  say  that  you  had  received  money?" 

And  Anna  answered,  truthfully,  "Yes,  Herr  Head ; 
I  did  say  that." 

"Fool!  Fool  indeed — when  it  would  have  been  so 
easy  for  you  to  pretend  you  had  done  it  to  please  your 
nephew !" 

"But  Mrs.  Otway,  she  has  forgiven  me.  My 
gracious  lady  does  not  think  I  did  anything  so  very 
wrong,"  cried  Anna. 

"Mrs.  Otway?  What  does  she  matter!  They  will 
do  all  they  can  to  get  out  of  you  how  you  received 

this  money.  You  must  say Are  you  attending, 

Frau  Bauer?" 

She  had  sunk  down  again  on  her  bench ;  she  felt  her 
legs  turning  to  cotton-wool.  "Yes,"  she  muttered. 
"Yes,  I  am  attending " 

"You  must  say,"  he  commanded,  "that  you  always 
received  the  money  from  your  nephew.  That  since 
the  war  you  have  had  none.  Do  I  make  myself  clear?" 

"Yes,"  she  murmured — "quite  clear,  Herr  Head." 

"If  you  do  not  say  that,  if  you  bring  me  into  this 
dirty  business,  then  I,  too,  will  say  what  /  know  about 
you." 

She  looked  at  him  uncomprehendingly.  What  did 
he  mean? 


348  Good  Old  Anna 

"Ah,  you  do  not  know  perhaps  what  I  can  tell  about 
you!" 

He  came  nearer  to  her,  and  in  a  hissing  whisper 
went  on:  "I  can  tell  how  it  was  through  you  that 
a  certain  factory  in  Flanders  was  shelled,  and  eighty 
Englishmen  were  killed.  And  if  I  tell  that,  they  will 
hang  you!" 

"But  that  is  not  true,"  said  Anna  stoutly.  "So  you 
could  not  say  that !" 

"It  is  true."  He  spoke  with  a  kind  of  ferocious 
energy  that  carried  conviction,  even  to  her.  "It  is 
absolutely  true,  and  easily  proved.  You  showed  a 
letter — a  letter  from  Mr.  Jervis  Blake.  In  that  letter 
was  information  which  led  directly  to  the  killing  of 
those  eighty  English  soldiers,  and  to  the  injury  to  Mr. 
Jervis  Blake  which  lost  him  his  foot." 

"What  is  that  you  say?"  Anna's  voice  rose  to  a 
scream  of  horror — of  incredulous,  protesting  horror. 
"Unsay,  do  unsay  what  you  have  just  said,  kind  Mr. 
Head!" 

"How  can  I  unsay  what  is  the  fact?"  he  answered 
savagely.  "Do  not  be  a  stupid  fool!  You  ought  to 
be  glad  you  performed  such  a  deed  for  the  Father- 
land." 

"Not  Mr.  Jervis  Blake,"  she  wailed  out.  "Not  the 
bridegroom  of  my  child !" 

"The  bridegroom  of  your  child  was  engaged  in 
killing  good  Germans;  and  now  he  will  never  kill 
any  Germans  any  more.  And  it  is  you,  Frau  Bauer, 
who  shot  off  his  foot.  If  you  betray  me,  all  that  will 
be  known,  and  they  will  not  deport  you,  they  will 
hang  you!" 

To   this   she   said    nothing,   and  he  touched   her 


Good  Old  Anna  349 

roughly  on  the  shoulder.  "Look  up,  Frau  Bauer! 
Look  up,  and  tell  me  that  you  understand !  It  is  im- 
portant!" 

She  looked  up,  and  even  he  was  shocked,  taken 
aback,  by  the  strange  look  on  her  face.  It  was  a  look 
of  dreadful  understanding,  of  fear,  and  of  pain.  "I 
do  understand,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice. 

"If  you  do  what  I  tell  you,  nothing  will  happen  to 
you,"  he  exclaimed  impatiently,  but  more  kindly  than 
he  had  yet  spoken.  "You  will  only  be  sent  home,  de- 
ported, as  they  call  it.  If  you  are  thinking  of  your 
money  in  the  Savings  Bank,  that  they  will  not  allow 
you  to  take.  But  without  doubt  your  ladies  will  take 
care  of  it  for  you  till  this  cursed  war  is  over.  So  you 
see  you  have  nothing  to  fear  if  you  do  what  I  tell  you. 
So  now  good-bye,  Frau  Bauer.  I'll  go  and  tell  them 
that  you  know  nothing,  that  I  have  been  not  able  to 
get  anything  out  of  you.  Is  that  so?" 

"Yes,"  she  answered  apathetically. 

Giving  one  more  quick  look  at  her  bowed  head,  he 
went  across  and  knocked  loudly  at  the  cell  door. 

There  was  a  little  pause,  and  then  the  door  opened. 
It  opened  just  wide  enough  to  let  him  out. 

And  then,  just  for  a  moment,  Alfred  Head  felt  a 
slight  tremor  of  discomfort,  for  the  end  of  the  passage, 
that  is,  farther  down,  some  way  past  Anna's  cell,  now 
seemed  full  of  men.  There  stood  the  chief  local  police 
inspector  and  three  or  four  policemen,  as  well  as  the 
gentleman  from  London. 

It  was  the  latter  who  first  spoke.  He  came  forward, 
towards  Alfred  Head.  "Well,"  he  said  rather  sternly, 
"I  presume  that  you've  been  able  to  get  nothing  from 
the  old  woman?" 


350  Good  Old  Anna 

And  Mr.  Head  answered  glibly  enough,  "That's 
quite  correct,  sir.  There  is  evidently  nothing  to  be  got 
out  of  her.  As  you  yourself  said,  sir,  not  long  ago, 
this  old  woman  has  only  been  a  tool." 

The  two  policemen  were  now  walking  one  each  side 
of  him,  and  it  seemed  to  Alfred  Head  as  if  he  were 
being  hustled  along  towards  the  hall  where  there  gen- 
erally stood,  widely  open,  the  doors  leading  out  on  to 
the  steps  to  the  Market  Place. 

He  told  himself  that  he  would  be  very  glad  to  get 
out  into  the  open  air  and  collect  his  thoughts.  He  did 
not  believe  that  his  old  fellow-countrywoman  would,  to 
use  a  vulgar  English  colloquialism,  "give  him  away." 
But  still,  he  would  not  feel  quite  at  ease  till  she  was 
safely  deported  and  out  of  the  way. 

The  passage  was  rather  a  long  one,  and  he  began 
to  feel  a  curious,  nervous  craving  to  reach  the  end  of  it 
— to  be,  that  is,  out  in  the  hall. 

But  just  before  they  reached  the  end  of  the  passage 
the  men  about  him  closed  round  Alfred  Head.  He 
felt  himself  seized,  it  seemed  to  him  from  every  side, 
not  roughly,  but  with  a  terribly  strong  muscular  grip. 

"What  is  this?"  he  cried  in  a  loud  voice.  Even  as 
he  spoke,  he  wondered  if  he  could  be  dreaming — if  this 
was  the  horrible  after  effect  of  the  strain  he  had  just 
gone  through. 

For  a  moment  only  he  struggled,  and  then,  suddenly, 
he  submitted.  He  knew  what  it  was  he  wished  to  save ; 
it  was  the  watch  chain  to  which  were  attached  the  two 
keys  of  the  safe  in  his  bedroom.  He  wore  them 
among  a  bunch  of  old-fashioned  Georgian  seals  which 
he  had  acquired  in  the  way  of  business,  and  he  had  had 
the  keys  gilt,  turned  to  a  dull  gold  colour,  to  match  the 


Good  Old  Anna  351 

seals.  It  was  possible,  just  possible,  that  they  might 
escape  the  notice  of  these  thick-witted  men  about  him. 

"What  does  this  mean?"  he  demanded;  and  then  he 
stopped,  for  there  rose  a  distant  sound  of  crying  and 
screaming  in  the  quiet  place. 

"What  is  that?"  he  cried,  startled. 

The  police  inspector  came  forward;  he  cleared  his 
throat.  "I'm  sorry  to  tell  you,  Head" — he  spoke  quite 
civilly,  even  kindly — "that  we've  had  to  arrest  your 
wife,  too." 

"This  is  too  much!  She  is  a  child — a  mere  child! 
Innocent  as  a  baby  unborn.  An  Englishwoman,  too, 
as  you  know  well,  Mr.  Watkins.  They  must  be  all 
mad  in  this  town — it  is  quite  mad  to  suspect  my  poor 
little  Polly!" 

The  inspector  was  a  kindly  man,  naturally  humane, 
and  he  had  known  the  prisoner  for  a  considerable  num- 
ber of  years.  As  for  poor  Polly,  he  had  always  been 
acquainted  with  her  family,  and  had  seen  her  grow  up 
from  a  lovely  child  into  a  very  pretty  girl. 

"Look  here!"  he  said.  "It's  no  good  kicking  up  a 
row.  Unluckily  for  her,  they  found  the  key  with 
which  they  opened  your  safe  in  her  possession.  D'you 
take  my  meaning?" 

Alfred  Head  grew  rather  white.  "That's  impos- 
sible !"  he  said  confidently.  "There  are  but  two  keys, 
and  I  have  them  both." 

The  other  looked  at  him  with  a  touch  of  pity. 
"There  must  have  been  a  third  key,"  he  said  slowly. 
"I've  got  it  here  myself.  It  was  hidden  away  in  an 
old-fashioned  dressing-case.  Besides,  Mrs.  Head 
didn't  put  up  any  fight.  But  if  she  can  prove,  as  she 
says,  that  she  knows  no  German,  and  that  you  didn't 


352  Good  Old  Anna 

know  she  had  a  key  of  the  safe — for  that's  what  she 
says — well,  that'll  help  her,  of  course." 

"But  there's  nothing  in  the  safe,"  Head  objected, 
quickly,  "nothing  of  what  might  be  called  an  incrim- 
inating nature,  Mr.  Watkins.  Only  business  letters 
and  papers,  and  all  of  them  sent  me  before  the  War." 

The  other  man  looked  at  him,  and  hesitated.  He 
had  gone  quite  as  far  as  old  friendship  allowed. 
"That's  as  may  be,"  he  said  cautiously.  "I  know  noth- 
ing of  all  that.  They've  been  sealed  up,  and  are  going 
off  to  London.  What  caused  you  to  be  arrested,  Mr. 
Head — this  much  I  may  tell  you — is  information  which 
was  telephoned  down  to  that  London  gentleman  half 
an  hour  ago.  But  it  was  just  an  accident  that  the  key 
Mrs.  Head  had  hidden  away  was  found  so  quickly — 
just  a  bit  of  bad  luck  for  her,  if  I  may  say  so." 

"Then  I  suppose  I  shan't  be  allowed  to  see  Polly?" 
There  was  a  tone  of  extreme  dejection  in  the  voice. 

"Well,  we'll  see  about  that!  I'll  see  what  I  can  do 
for  you.  You're  not  to  be  charged  till  to-morrow 
morning.  Then  you'll  be  charged  along  with  that  man 
— the  man  who  came  to  the  Trellis  House  this  morning. 
He's  been  found  too.  He  went  straight  to  those  Pol- 
lits — you  follow  my  meaning?  Mrs.  Pollit  is  the 
daughter  of  that  old  German  woman.  I  never  could 
abide  her!  Often  and  often  I  said  to  my  missis,  as  I 
see  her  go  crawling  about,  There's  a  German  as  is 
taking  away  a  good  job  from  an  English  woman.'  So 
she  was.  Well,  I  must  now  tell  them  where  to  take 
you.  And  I'm  afraid  you'll  have  to  be  stripped  and 
searched — that's  the  order  in  these  kind  of  cases." 

Alfred   Head  nodded.     "I   don't  mind,"  he   said 


Good  Old  Anna  353 

stoutly.  "I'm  an  innocent  man."  But  he  had  clenched 
his  teeth  together  when  he  had  heard  the  name  of  Pol- 
lit  uttered  so  casually.  If  Pollit  told  all  he  knew,  then 
the  game  was  indeed  up. 


CHAPTER    XXXIV 

AFTER  the  door  had  shut  behind  Alfred  Head, 
Anna  Bauer  sat  on,  quite  motionless,  awhile. 
What  mind  was  left  to  her,  after  the  terrifying  and 
agonising  interview  she  had  just  had,  was  absorbed  in 
the  statement  made  to  her  concerning  Jervis  Blake. 

She  remembered,  with  blinding  clearness,  the  after- 
noon that  Rose  had  come  into  her  kitchen  to  say  in  a 
quiet,  toneless  voice,  "They  think,  Anna,  that  they  will 
have  to  take  off  his  foot."  She  saw,  as  clearly  as  if 
her  nursling  were  there  in  this  whitewashed  little  cell, 
the  look  of  desolate,  dry-eyed  anguish  which  had  filled 
Rose's  face. 

But  that  false  quietude  had  only  lasted  a  few  mo- 
ments, for,  in  response  to  her  poor  old  Anna's  exclama- 
tion of  horror  and  of  sympathy,  Rose  Otway  had  flung 
herself  into  her  nurse's  arms,  and  had  lain  there  shiver- 
ing and  crying  till  the  sound  of  the  front  door  opening 
to  admit  her  mother  had  forced  her  to  control  herself. 

Anna's  mind  travelled  wearily  on,  guided  by  re- 
proachful memory  through  a  maze  of  painful  recollec- 
tions. Once  more  she  stood  watching  the  strange  mar- 
riage ceremony — trying  hard,  aye,  and  succeeding,  to 
obey  Sir  Jacques's  strict  injunction.  More  than  one 
of  those  present  had  glanced  over  at  her,  Anna,  very 
kindly  during  that  trying  half-hour.  How  would  they 
then  have  looked  at  her  if  they  had  known  what  she 
knew  now  ? 

She  lived  again  as  in  long  drawn-out  throbs  of  pain 
354 


Good  Old  Anna  355 

the  piteous  days  which  had  followed  Mr.  Blake's 
operation. 

Rose  had  not  allowed  herself  one  word  of  fret  or  of 
repining;  but  on  three  different  nights  during  that  first 
week,  she  had  got  out  of  bed  and  wandered  about  the 
house,  till  Anna,  hearing  the  quiet,  stuffless  sounds  of 
bare  feet,  had  come  out,  and  leading  the  girl  into  the 
still  warm  kitchen,  had  comforted  her. 

It  was  Anna  who  had  spoken  to  Sir  Jacques,  and 
suggested  the  sleeping  draught  which  had  finally 
broken  that  evil  waking  spell — Anna  who,  far  more 
than  Rose's  own  mother,  had  sustained  and  heartened 
the  poor  child  during  those  dreadful  days  of  reaction 
which  followed  on  the  brave  front  she  had  shown  at 
the  crisis  of  the  operation. 

And  now  Anna  had  to  face  the  horrible  fact  that  it 
was  she  who  had  brought  this  dreadful  suffering,  this 
— this  lifelong  misfortune,  on  the  being  she  loved  more 
than  she  had  ever  loved  anything  in  the  world.  If 
this  was  true,  and  in  her  heart  she  knew  it  to  be  true, 
then  she  did  indeed  deserve  to  hang.  A  shameful 
death  would  be  nothing  in  comparison  to  the  agony  of 
fearing  that  her  darling  might  come  to  learn  the  truth. 

The  door  of  the  cell  suddenly  opened,  and  a  man 
came  in,  carrying  a  tray  in  his  hands.  On  it  were  a 
jug  of  coffee,  some  milk,  sugar,  bread  and  butter,  and 
a  plateful  of  cold  meat. 

He  put  it  down  by  the  old  woman's  side.  "Look 
here!"  he  said.  "Your  lady,  Mrs.  Guthrie  as  she  is 
now,  thought  you'd  rather  have  coffee  than  tea — so 
we've  managed  to  get  some  for  you. " 

And,  as  Anna  burst  into  loud  sobs,  "There,  there!" 


356  Good  Old  Anna 

he  said  good-naturedly.  "I  daresay  you'll  be  all  right 
— don't  you  be  worrying  yourself."  He  lowered  his 
voice :  "Though  there  are  some  as  says  that  what  they 
found  in  your  back  kitchen  this  morning  was  enough 
to  have  blown  up  all  Witanbury  sky  high!  Quite  a 
good  few  don't  think  you  knew  anything  about  it — 
and  if  you  didn't,  you've  nothing  to  fear.  You'll  be 
treated  quite  fair ;  so  now  you  sit  up,  and  make  a  good 
supper!" 

She  stared  at  him  without  speaking,  and  he  went  on : 
"You  won't  be  having  this  sort  of  grub  in  Darneford 
Gaol,  you  know !"  As  she  again  looked  at  him  with  no 
understanding,  he  added  by  way  of  explanation : 
"After  you've  been  charged  to-morrow,  it's  there 
they'll  send  you,  I  expect,  to  wait  for  the  Assizes." 

"So?"  she  said  stupidly. 

"You  just  sit  up  and  enjoy  your  supper!  You 
needn't  hurry  over  it.  I  shan't  be  this  way  again  for 
an  hour  or  so."  And  then  he  went  out  and  shut  the 
door. 

For  almost  the  first  time  in  her  life,  Anna  Bauer 
did  not  feel  as  if  she  wanted  to  eat  good  food  set  be- 
fore her.  But  she  poured  out  a  cup  of  coffee,  and 
drank  it  just  as  it  was,  black  and  bitter,  without  put- 
ting either  milk  or  sugar  to  it. 

Then  she  stood  up.  The  coffee  had  revived  her, 
cleared  her  brain,  and  she  looked  about  her  with  awak- 
ened, keener  perceptions. 

It  was  beginning  to  get  dark,  but  it  was  a  fine  even- 
ing, and  there  was  still  light  enough  to  see  by.  She 
looked  up  consideringly  at  the  old-fashioned  iron  gas 
bracket,  placed  in  the  middle  of  the  ceiling,  just  above 


Good  Old  Anna  357 

the  wooden  chair  on  which  her  gracious  lady  had  sat 
during  the  last  part  of  their  conversation. 

Anna  took  from  the  bench  where  she  had  been  sit- 
ting the  crochet  in  which  she  had  been  interrupted. 

She  had  lately  been  happily  engaged  in  making  a 
beautiful  band  of  crochet  lace  which  was  destined  to 
serve  as  trimming  for  Mrs.  Jervis  Blake's  dressing- 
table.  The  band  was  now  very  nearly  finished;  there 
were  over  three  yards  of  it  done.  Worked  in  the  best 
and  strongest  linen  thread,  it  was  the  kind  of  thing 
which  would  last,  even  if  it  were  cleaned  very  fre- 
quently, for  years  and  years,  and  which  would  grow 
finer  with  cleaning. 

The  band  was  neatly  rolled  up  and  pinned,  to  keep 
it  clean  and  nice ;  but  now  Anna  slowly  unpinned  and 
unrolled  it. 

Yes,  it  was  a  beautiful  piece  of  work;  rather  coarser 
than  what  she  was  accustomed  to  do,  but  then  she  knew 
that  Miss  Rose  preferred  the  coarser  to  the  very  fine 
crochet. 

She  tested  a  length  of  it  with  a  sharp  pull,  and  the 
result  was  wonderful — from  her  point  of  view  most 
gratifying!  It  hardly  gave  at  all.  She  remembered 
how  ill  her  mistress  had  succeeded  when  she,  Anna, 
had  tried  to  teach  her  to  do  this  kind  of  work  some 
sixteen  to  seventeen  years  ago.  After  a  very  little 
while  Mrs.  Otway  had  given  up  trying  to  do  it,  know- 
ing that  she  could  never  rival  her  good  old  Anna.  Mrs. 
Otway's  lace  had  been  so  rough,  so  uneven ;  a  tiny  pull, 
and  it  became  all  stringy  and  out  of  shape. 

Yes,  whatever  strain  were  put  on  this  band,  it  would 
surely  recover — recover,  that  is,  if  it  were  dealt  with 
as  she,  Anna,  would  deal  with  such  a  piece  of  work.  It 


358  Good  Old  Anna 

would  have  to  be  damped  and  stretched  out  on  a  piece 
of  oiled  silk,  and  each  point  fastened  down  with  a  pin. 
Then  an  almost  cold  iron  would  have  to  be  passed  over 
it,  with  a  piece  of  clean  flannel  in  between.  .  .  . 


CHAPTER    XXXV 

AT  eight  o'clock  the  same  evening,  Mr.  Reynolds 
and  Mr.  Hayley  were  eating  a  hasty  meal  in  the 
Trellis  House.  James  Hayley  had  been  compelled  to 
stay  on  till  the  last  train  back  to  town,  for  on  him  the 
untoward  events  of  the  day  had  entailed  a  good  deal 
of  trouble.  He  had  had  to  put  off  his  cousin's  ten- 
ants, find  lodgings  for  their  two  servants,  and  arrange 
quarters  for  the  policeman  who,  pending  inquiries,  was 
guarding  the  contents  of  Anna's  bedroom. 

A  charwoman  had  been  found  with  the  help  of  Mrs. 
Haworth.  But  when  this  woman  had  been  asked — her 
name  was  Bent,  and  she  was  a  verger's  wife — to  pro- 
vide a  little  supper  for  two  gentlemen,  she  had  de- 
murred, and  said  it  was  impossible.  Then,  at  last,  she 
had  volunteered  to  cook  two  chops  and  boil  some  po- 
tatoes. But  she  had  explained  that  nothing  further 
must  be  expected  of  her;  she  was  not  used  to  waiting  at 
table. 

The  two  young  men  were  thus  looking  after  them- 
selves in  the  pretty  dining-room.  Mr.  Reynolds,  who 
was  not  as  particular  as  his  companion,  and  who,  as  a 
matter  of  fact,  had  had  no  luncheon,  thought  the  chop 
quite  decent.  In  fact,  he  was  heartily  enjoying  his 
supper,  for  he  was  very  hungry. 

"I  daresay  all  you  say  concerning  Anna  Bauer's 
powers  of  cooking,  of  saving,  of  mending,  and  of 
cleaning,  are  quite  true!"  he  exclaimed,  with  a  laugh. 
"But  believe  me,  Mr.  Hayley,  she's  a  wicked  old 

359 


360  Good  Old  Anna 

woman!  Of  course  I  shall  know  a  great  deal  more 
about  her  to-morrow  morning.  But  I've  already  been 
able  to  gather  a  good  deal  to-day.  There's  been  a  reg- 
ular nest  of  spies  in  this  town,  with  antennae  stretching 
out  over  the  whole  of  this  part  of  the  southwest  coast. 
Would  you  be  surprised  to  learn  that  your  cousin's 
good  old  Anna  has  a  married  daughter  in  the  business 
— a  daughter  married  to  an  Englishman?" 

"You  don't  mean  George  Pollit?"  asked  James  Hay- 
ley  eagerly. 

"Yes — that's  the  man's  name!  Why,  d'you  know 
him?" 

"I  should  think  I  do!  I  helped  to  get  him  out  of  a 
scrape  last  year.  He's  a  regular  rascal." 

"Aye,  that  he  is  indeed.  He's  acted  as  post  office  to 
this  man  Hegner.  It's  he,  the  fellow  they  call  Alfred 
Head,  the  Dean's  friend,  the  city  councillor,  who  has 
been  the  master  spy."  Again  he  laughed,  this  time 
rather  unkindly.  "I  think  we've  got  the  threads  of  it 
all  in  our  hands  by  now.  You  see,  we  found  this  man 
Pollit's  address  among  the  very  few  papers  which  were 
discovered  at  that  Spaniard's  place  near  Southampton. 
A  sharp  fellow  went  to  Pollit's  shop,  and  the  man 
didn't  put  up  any  fight  at  all.  They're  fools  to  employ 
that  particular  Cockney  type.  I  suppose  they  chose  him 
because  his  wife  is  German " 

There  came  a  loud  ring  at  the  front  door,  and  James 
Hayley  jumped  up.  "I'd  better  see  what  that  is,"  he 
said.  "The  woman  we've  got  here  is  such  a  fool !" 

He  went  out  into  the  hall,  and  found  Rose  Blake. 

"We  heard  about  Anna  just  after  we  got  to  Lon- 
don," she  said  breathlessly.  "A  man  in  the  train  men- 
tioned it  to  Jervis  quite  casually,  while  speaking  of 


Good  Old  Anna  361 

mother's  wedding.  So  we  came  back  at  once  to  hear 
what  had  really  happened  and  to  see  if  we  could  do 
anything.  Oh,  James,  what  a  dreadful  thing!  Of 
course  she's  innocent — it's  absurd  to  think  anything 
else.  Where  is  she?  Can  I  go  and  see  her  now,  at 
once?  She  must  be  in  a  dreadful  state.  I  do  feel  so 
miserable  about  her!" 

"You'd  better  come  in  here,"  he  said  quietly.  It 
was  odd  what  a  sharp  little  stab  at  the  heart  it  gave  him 
to  see  Rose  looking  so  like  herself — so  like  the  girl  he 
had  hoped  in  time  to  make  his  wife.  And  yet  so  dif- 
ferent too — so  much  softer,  sweeter,  and  with  a  new 
radiance  in  her  face. 

He  asked  sharply,  "By  the  way,  where's  your  hus- 
band?" 

"He's  with  the  Robeys.  I  preferred  to  come  here 
alone." 

She  followed  him  into  the  dining-room. 

"This  is  Mr.  Reynolds, — Mr.  Reynolds,  my  cousin 
Mrs.  Blake!"  He  waited  uncomfortably,  impatiently, 
while  they  shook  hands,  and  then:  "I'm  afraid  you're 
going  to  have  a  shock "  he  exclaimed,  and,  sud- 
denly softening,  looked  at  her  with  a  good  deal  of  con- 
cern in  his  face.  "There's  very  little  doubt,  Rose,  that 
Anna  Bauer  is  guilty." 

"I'm  sure  she's  not,"  said  Rose  stoutly.  She  looked 
across  at  the  stranger.  "You  must  forgive  me  for 
speaking  like  this,"  she  said,  "but  you  see  old  Anna 
was  my  nurse,  and  I  really  do  know  her  very  well." 

As  she  glanced  from  the  one  grave  face  to  the  other, 
her  own  shadowed.  "Is  it  very  very  serious?"  she 
asked,  with  a  catch  in  her  clear  voice. 

"Yes,  I'm  afraid  it  is." 


362  Good  Old  Anna 

"Oh,  James,  do  try  and  get  leave  for  me  to  see  her 
to-night — even  for  only  a  moment. " 

She  turned  to  the  other  man ;  somehow  she  felt  that 
she  had  a  better  chance  there.  "I  have  been  in  great 
trouble  lately,"  she  said,  in  a  low  tone,  "and  but  for 
Anna  Bauer  I  don't  know  how  I  should  have  got 
through  it.  That  is  why  I  feel  I  must  go  to  her  now 
in  her  trouble." 

"We'll  see  what  can  be  done,"  said  Mr.  Reynolds 
kindly.  "It  may  be  easier  to  arrange  for  you  to  see 
her  to-night  than  it  would  be  to-morrow,  after  she  has 
been  charged." 

When  they  reached  the  Market  Place  they  saw  that 
there  were  a  good  many  idlers  still  standing  about  near 
the  steps  leading  up  to  the  now  closed  door  of  the 
Council  House. 

"You  had  better  wait  down  here  while  I  go  and  see 
about  it,"  said  James  Hayley  quickly.  He  did  not  like 
the  thought  of  Rose  standing  among  the  sort  of  people 
who  were  lingering,  like  noisome  flies  round  a  honey- 
pot,  under  the  great  portico. 

And  when  he  had  left  them  standing  together  in 
the  great  space  under  the  stars,  Rose  turned  to  the 
stranger  with  whom  she  somehow  felt  in  closer  sym- 
pathy than  with  her  own  cousin. 

"What  makes  you  think  our  old  servant  was  a — 
she  broke  off.     She  could  not  bear  to  use  the  word 
"spy." 

"I'll  tell  you,"  he  said  slowly,  "what  has  convinced 
me.  But  keep  this  for  the  present  to  yourself,  Mrs. 
Blake,  for  I  have  said  nothing  of  it  to  Mr.  Hayley. 
Quite  at  the  beginning  of  the  War,  it  was  arranged  that 


Good  Old  Anna  363 

all  telegrams  addressed  to  the  Continent  should  be  sent 
to  the  head  telegraph  office  in  London  for  examination. 
Now  within  the  first  ten  days  one  hundred  and  four 
messages,  sent,  I  should  add,  to  a  hundred  and  four 

different  addresses,  were  worded  as  follows "  He 

waited  a  moment.  "Are  you  following  what  I  say, 
Mrs.  Blake?" 

"Yes,"  she  said  quickly.  "I  think  I  understand. 
You  are  telling  me  about  some  telegrams — a  great 
many  telegrams " 

But  she  was  asking  herself  how  this  complicated 
story  could  be  connected  with  Anna  Bauer. 

"Well,  I  repeat  that  a  hundred  and  four  telegrams 
were  worded  almost  exactly  alike :  'Father  can  come 
back  on  about  I4th.  Boutet  is  expecting  him/  ' 

Rose  looked  up  at  him.  "Yes?"  she  said  hesitat- 
ingly. She  was  completely  at  a  loss. 

"Well,  your  old  German  servant,  Mrs.  Blake,  sent 
one  of  these  telegrams  on  Monday,  August  loth.  She 
explained  that  a  stranger  she  met  in  the  street  had 
asked  her  to  send  it  off.  She  was,  it  seems,  kept  under 
observation  for  a  little  while,  after  her  connection  with 
this  telegram  had  been  discovered,  but  in  all  the  cir- 
cumstances, the  fact  she  was  in  your  mother's  service, 
and  so  on,  she  was  given  the  benefit  of  the  doubt." 

"But — but  I  don't  understand  even  now  ?"  said  Rose 
slowly. 

"I'll  explain.  All  these  messages  were  from  German 
agents  in  this  country,  who  wished  to  tell  their  em- 
ployers about  the  secret  despatch  of  our  Expeditionary 
Force.  'Boutet'  meant  Boulogne.  Of  course  we  have 
no  clue  at  all  as  to  how  your  old  servant  got  the  infor- 
mation. " 


364  Good  Old  Anna 

Rose  suddenly  remembered  the  day  when  Major 
Guthrie  had  come  to  say  good-bye.  A  confused  feeling 
of  horror,  of  pity,  and  of  vicarious  shame  swept  over 
her.  For  the  first  time  in  her  young  life  she  was  glad 
of  the  darkness  which  hid  her  face  from  her  com- 
panion. 

The  thought  of  seeing  Anna  now  filled  her  with 
repugnance  and  shrinking  pain.  "I — I  understand 
what  you  mean,"  she  said  slowly. 

"You  must  remember  that  she  is  a  German.  She 
probably  regards  herself  in  the  light  of  a  heroine!" 

The  minutes  dragged  by,  and  it  seemed  to  Mr. 
Reynolds  that  they  had  been  waiting  there  at  least  half 
an  hour,  when  at  last  he  saw  with  relief  the  tall  slim 
figure  emerge  through  the  great  door  of  the  Council 
House.  Very  deliberately  James  Hayley  walked  down 
the  stone  steps,  and  came  towards  them.  When  he 
reached  the  place  where  the  other  two  were  standing, 
waiting  for  him,  he  looked  round  as  if  to  make  sure 
that  there  was  no  one  within  earshot. 

"Rose,"  he  said  huskily — and  he  also  was  consciously 
glad  of  the  darkness,  for  he  had  just  gone  through 
what  had  been,  to  one  of  his  highly  civilised  and  fas- 
tidious temperament,  a  most  trying  ordeal — "Rose,  I'm 
sorry  to  bring  you  bad  news.  Anna  Bauer  is  dead. 
The  poor  old  woman  has  hanged  herself.  As  a  matter 
of  fact,  it  was  I — I  and  the  inspector  of  police — who 
found  her.  We  managed  to  get  a  doctor  in  through 
one  of  the  side  entrances — but  it  was  of  no  use. " 

Rose  said  no  word.  She  stood  quite  still,  over- 
whelmed, bewildered  with  the  horror,  and,  to  her,  the 
pain,  of  the  thing  she  had  just  heard. 

And  then,  suddenly,  there  fell,  shaft-like,  athwart 


Good  Old  Anna  365 

the  still,  dark  air,  the  sound  of  muffled  thuds,  falling 
quickly  in  rhythmical  sequence,  on  the  brick-paved 
space  which  melted  away  into  the  darkness  to  their 
left. 

"What's  that?"  exclaimed  Mr.  Reynolds.  His 
nerves  also  were  shaken  by  the  news  which  he  had  just 
heard;  but  even  as  he  spoke  he  saw  that  the  sound 
which  seemed  so  strange,  so — so  sinister,  was  caused 
by  a  tall  figure  only  now  coming  out  of  the  shadows 
away  across  the  Market  Place.  What  puzzled  Mr. 
Reynolds  was  the  man's  very  peculiar  gait.  He  seemed, 
if  one  can  use  such  a  contradiction  in  terms,  to  be  at 
once  crawling  and  swinging  along. 

"It's  my  husband!" 

Rose  Blake  raised  her  head.  A  wavering  gleam  of 
light  fell  on  her  pale,  tear-stained  face,  and  showed  it 
suddenly  as  if  illumined,  glowing  from  within :  "He's 
never  been  so  far  by  himself  before — I  must  go  to 
him!" 

She  began  walking  swiftly — almost  running — to 
meet  that  strangely  slow  yet  leaping  figure,  which  was 
becoming  more  and  more  clearly  defined  among  the 
deeply  shaded  gas  lamps  which  stood  at  wide  intervals 
in  the  great  space  round  them. 

Then,  all  at  once,  they  heard  the  eager,  homing  cry, 
"Rose?"  and  the  answering  cry,  "Jervis?"  and  the  two 
figures  seemed  to  become  merged  till  they  formed  one, 
together. 

THE  END 


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